


Domestic Life

by Nirah



Series: Breaking Destiny [2]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: AU, Graphic Sex, M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-05-10 05:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 125,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14730503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nirah/pseuds/Nirah
Summary: Following the plot of Breaking Destiny, this series provides glimpses of the characters' lives after the Nightmare's War and before the events of Gods of War.





	1. 2011 - An Easy Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part 2 of the Breaking Destiny series.

**2011**

The sky was beginning to brighten with streaks of pink and orange light. Harry would be awake soon. Donna's house would come to life to the sound of running water and boiling kettles, bare feet and slippers alike scuffling across carpet. But hopefully no crying.

The Doctor had been awake all night, tending to Ganbri and trying to bring down the fever that had suddenly come from nowhere. He still burned hot to the touch, but at least it had gone down enough to let the baby sleep. He was only four months old, the Doctor thought sourly, he was supposed to be focusing on learning one face from another or how to make his own hands obey him properly. He wasn't supposed to be awake all night, red faced and screaming.

It frightened him when the dreadful sound hadn't even woken Harry. The two of them were so in tune with each other that Harry seemed to always know the second that Ganbri woke up, crying or not. Last night, he simply laid there, not even stirring. The Doctor knew exactly what he would see if he leaned over to look at his husband's face, but he made himself do it anyway.

Eyes open, wide and staring. Harry didn't respond to sound or sight or touch. The Doctor could poke at him, roll him over, shout at him. Nothing happened. Harry would lay there silently and stare blindly into space—the only sign of life was the quiet, shallow breathing.

His eyes always opened when Ganbri cried but, since their return to Earth two months ago, sometimes that was all that happened. Harry claimed that he didn't remember anything, thinking he had been asleep the whole time. The Doctor had performed many tests and it seemed that it was just like Harry's other attacks—his mind and body were simply acting out in their struggle to handle stress.

Once, when Harry's brown eyes stared at him without seeing, the Doctor tried looking into his mind. It was like drowning beneath a hundred miles of black sea. It was heavy, the pressure unbearable and paralyzing, and each of his senses had been dulled until it seemed that there was nothing but water and space and static.

Maybe that was why Ganbri cried so hard. Maybe he reached out for his Tokrah in his distress and found nothing but emptiness.

The Doctor kissed the baby's soft head, wrapping his arms a little tighter around the little form protectively.  _I'm here,_  he tried to communicate to Ganbri with his thoughts and emotions, the same way that Harry did so perfectly.  _I will always be here._

He hadn't been able to communicate too well with Ganbri, still recovering from the grievous strain he had put on his mind when he faced Kahlia. Sometimes he still heard the Beast snarling in his head. Sometimes he worried that his fractured mind might never heal, worried that he might never bond with his son properly. He tried his best to slip in little thoughts or emotions when he could, even though it usually left his head aching for an hour or two later.

He could see the TARDIS through the window, parked carefully between the garden shed and a rose bush in the backyard. He yearned for her. The TARDIS had always kept him safe and comforted him when he needed it. Suddenly he found himself needing to do that job for others and it made him appreciate her hard work all the more. Like a frightened child running into the arms of his mother, the Doctor could only think that everything would somehow be better if he could only run away in his TARDIS again.

But his family was in no state to travel. Leaving them behind was not even an option. He wished he could at least sleep in his own room, in the bed that had cradled him for seven hundred years through all the best and worst times of his life. Harry had wisely insisted that they stay in the homes of their friends until they were both better, in case something happened and, in their vulnerable states, they were unable to take care of Ganbri. It was the safest thing to do really but, oh, how strange it was to try to sleep to the sound of lonely wind when he was used to the rhythmic humming of his ship.

His head was starting to ache already. Harry kept telling him that his mind would mend better if he slept more. The Doctor knew he was right. But sleeping was a lot harder these days. Some nights he dreamed of Sevil's gentle hands bathing his wounds or of Mouse's eyes gazing lifelessly up at him from the floor. Some nights he dreamed of Kahlia holding her vicious silver knife with bodies of children heaped at her feet. Harry's children, but his own too—lost centuries ago. Sahrrea always appeared so burnt and blackened in his dreams that he only recognized her by the green flecks in her eyes. Sometimes he even heard her mother wailing somewhere that he couldn't see.

He told himself that the dreams plagued him to remind him of what he must do. And what he mustn't.

He would not fail another child. He would not fail another spouse. If it meant that he had to sleep in a strange bed, away from the loving comfort of his faithful TARDIS, then that was simply the price of it. He would not be selfish this time. He would not be reckless.

Staying in Donna's house was temporary, of course, but he knew what it was the start of. They could not travel while Ganbri was growing and eventually Harry would want to get a house of their own. It was against his nature to settle and stay in one place, but it seemed that following his nature had never done him any favours when it came to having a family. And he wanted them more than he wanted to travel. He  _needed_  them more.

So it was okay that the ship that felt like a mother sat empty in the garden. It was okay that his neck was sore from unfamiliar pillows and the sun peeked through the window to wake him whether he was ready for it or not. It was okay if Harry still suffered through attacks, and if they changed or became more challenging. It was okay that he got headaches when he used his mind to sooth his infant son.

It was all okay because it meant that he was there with them.  _For_  them. He would teach Ganbri everything he needed to know to safely drive a car or pilot a ship and the Doctor would explore the Bluesmoke Marshes another day when his son was old enough to go with him. He would discover worlds with Harry when he was well and spend the day in bed with him when he wasn't, and his husband would die someday, holding his hand when they were both old and happy.

So, as his head ached and he blinked with exhaustion into the light of dawn, the feeling of Ganbri's heat against his chest and the soft sound of footsteps in the hallway brought a smile to his lips.

Earth's star shone warm and bright as it emerged from the horizon and it was absolutely beautiful.

Even if it did rise every day.


	2. 2011 - Baby Time

**2011**

It was probably the fiftieth cup of tea Harry had made that day. He'd tried to make the Doctor eat—chicken soup, jam on toast, he even tried slicing up a banana—but anything he presented was waved away with a groan. Everything except tea. The Doctor liked having something to sip and he said that something hot felt better than cold, but even  _thinking_  of chewing something had his stomach rolling with threats to purge.

The Doctor's face seemed to transition between flushed and pale with every hour. He couldn't bear to have a blanket pulled any higher than his waist, claiming the heat felt suffocating, but was wearing two pairs of socks with thick slippers because his feet were freezing. He really ought to have been in bed and Harry had voiced that opinion many times already, but there was no point. The Doctor would simply lie there, flushed and feverish, with his feet in Donna's lap, and produce another argument that made even less sense than the last one.

Despite how dreadfully sick he was, the Doctor refused to leave Donna's side. And, as long as she could hold off going to the hospital, Donna refused to leave his. Her labour was slow and, so far, relatively easy. Whenever she felt something a little frightening or painful, she'd let out a whimper and the Doctor would dutifully force himself to sit up so that he could put an arm around her or squeeze her hand. Any time his stomach lurched and he rolled over to reach for the nearby bucket, Donna patted his back while her face turned away with a disgusted look.

The folly could have been avoided if only the illness were transmittable to humans. The Doctor, knowing Donna could have her baby any day now, had been very quick to explain to everyone that it was impossible for a human to catch his illness. That meant that, when Shaun called to announce that Donna was in labour, the Doctor dragged himself out of bed so that he could sit with her and she allowed it.

Ganbri had been especially fussy as well. Harry worried for a while that he might have been getting sick too but none of the symptoms appeared. He must have just sensed his Banni's distress, Harry decided. Even now, as the baby sat on the floor, clumsily ramming a toy tractor into a barn full of animals just heaped onto one another, he didn't look particularly happy.

"I've heard some people can be in labour for  _days_ ," Donna chattered nervously as she accepted a fresh cup of tea from Harry. "Bethany Milton said her oldest took thirty-two hours! He was twisted around all funny and his head got stuck or something. If they'd known he was stuck before, it wouldn't have taken as long, but they didn't check for ages. What if that happens? Is there a way to tell if she's stuck now, just in case?"

"I'm not doing that," the Doctor answered quickly, pulling his hands up close to his chest protectively.

She smacked him on the thigh. "You're damn right," she answered roughly. "I mean, don't you have some kind of scanners or something? Can't you just wave some sort of beepy thing over me and find out?"

"I'm sure it will be fine," Harry assured her, sitting cross-legged on the floor with Ganbri. "Earth doctors know a lot these days. Child birth is nothing to worry about."

Donna let out an odd, nervous sounding sort of laugh and pointed a shaky finger at him. "No, no, no," she said quickly. "You almost died. When your boy was born, you both almost  _died_. I put my hands  _inside_  your chest and pinched an artery between my bloody fingers because it was the only thing I could do to keep you alive—"

"That was different," Shaun interrupted quietly. "Harry was injured. If he hadn't been hurt, Ganbri most likely would have been born without any problems. Right?"

"Right," Harry answered. For a second, he could almost feel the throbbing in his chest again as the flesh simultaneously tried to heal and tear itself apart. He'd never felt so cold or so exhausted in all his life.

"I've been paying attention," the Doctor added, reaching a clammy hand out to take Donna's. "The whole pregnancy, I've not seen a thing to—" He stopped abruptly, his face suddenly turning a shade paler. Donna pushed at his shoulder to make him turn over and he snatched up the bucket on the floor.

It was always a bit awkward when that happened. They'd tried a couple of times to continue talking, to distract them from the terrible sound of the Doctor's retching and the splashing at the bottom of the pail, but it seemed impossible to stay on topic. Plus, they all felt rather guilty for trying to pretend that nothing was happening. Most times, everyone just sort of looked away and pretended to see something very interesting on the wall or the carpet.

Harry paid attention this time, noting that the Doctor produced little more than perhaps a tablespoon of thick fluid before he rolled onto his back again, groaning. His body had given up everything already and there was precious little being returned to him.

"What if it's a boy?" Donna started up again. "Carla Miller was telling me that those scans aren't always right. It turns out people get boys when they're expected girls all the time 'cause they've got their little bits tucked away somewhere during the scan. All the clothes we have are for a girl!"

Harry decided to let Shaun handle that one, pulling himself to his feet and hurrying off to the kitchen instead. He came back with a packet of salted crackers, pulling a couple out to feed to Ganbri before setting it on the Doctor's chest.

"Eat some of these and drink your tea."

"I don't want them," the Doctor complained, pushing the crackers away but obediently grabbing his mug of tea. Harry had had to give him a bendy straw to drink it with so that he didn't have to sit up, though it did make him look all the more pitiful.

"I didn't ask if you wanted them."

The Doctor made an unhappy little sound but pulled a couple of crackers from the packet. He made sure to make a show of putting one in his mouth and chewed it slowly, looking a little greener every second. In the end, he got it down and reached for another after a minute. He also took an extra one out and tried to pass it to Donna.

"No, thanks," she answered quickly. "Nothing but water for me until the baby comes."

Harry noticed she was shifting around in her seat more often. She didn't look nearly as relaxed as she had an hour ago and he thought he could see a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. Everyone had assured her that most women were in labour for hours before anything exciting happened, but Harry was beginning to suspect that she may have been moving along a little faster than anticipated.

"How come?" the Doctor asked her, eating his second and third crackers much easier than first.

"June Fuller told me that women usually have a poo on the table when they're pushing but then Karen Harris said it was bollocks. She says when she had her kids, she didn't eat anything once she went into labour and she never did any mess."

"It doesn't matter, darling," Shaun said quietly, though the look on his face showed that he clearly wasn't keen on seeing the described action. Then again, Harry supposed most men weren't keen on seeing  _any_  of it. Not too long before this time period, human men waited in a quiet room, completely separated from their wives and just waited for a baby to be put in their arms.

"I just don't want to remember the first time I hold my baby to also be the first time in my adult life that I shat myself, alright?"

"They all shit themselves," Harry said with a shrug.

The Doctor pushed a cracker at her again. "But no one even thinks about that part. All they ever remember is the baby."

"And your wife, girlfriend, whatever—the one who had your first kid—did she?"

Harry's mouth dropped open for a second. There was always some kind of silent understanding between the Doctor and his friends when it came to asking questions like that. The understanding was really just along the lines of  _don't_. But Donna was nervous and fidgeting and becoming less comfortable with every passing minute. She probably said the words before she'd even thought of them properly.

But, even when he was sick with fever, the Doctor always knew how to recover from an awkward moment as though it never happened. "I honestly don't know. Even if she did, I don't remember. I was too busy looking at her and my daughter to notice anything else in the room."

"Really?" Donna asked, a hint of hope in her voice.

The Doctor smiled. "The world could have ended then and I wouldn't have noticed."

There was a silence that followed for a moment. Shaun was smiling, his mouth half open as though he were trying to say something. But nobody said anything and it was terribly quiet. For some reason, it made Harry dreadfully uncomfortable.

"Nenye pooped," he blurted. When everyone looked at him in surprise, he quickly pulled Ganbri into his lap and pretended that he was smoothing out the mess of black hair. "I wasn't there when Kahlia was born or anything, but she told me afterwards. Said had no idea she'd done it until she was waiting for them to clean the baby and she noticed the smell . . . No one was bothered by it, that's all."

Another awkward silence. Even Ganbri seemed to be staring at him. God, it was hot in that room all of a sudden. Was he sweating?

"Thanks, Harry," Shaun said with a flat voice. "Stellar support."

His hearts were beating a bit too fast and he felt inexplicably anxious. Ganbri quickly picked up on it and began to whimper and whine in his arms. He would be a year old soon—a whole year!—and yet they seemed just as connected to each other as when Harry carried him beneath his skin. He pulled the boy up to his chest, patting him on the back and trying to shush him, and suddenly the foreign anxiety he felt made sense.

It wasn't his own.

"Donna, you've got to go," he said.

"What?" Shaun and the Doctor asked in unison.

"Why haven't you said anything?" Harry ignored them, looking only at the woman before him.

Donna's eyes grew wide, quickly looking away from Harry, darting anywhere in the room that wasn't another person. Then she accidentally looked into Shaun's eyes and very suddenly burst into tears.

"I'm not ready!" she sobbed. "I can't  _do_  this! I'm supposed to push an entire human being out of me and I don't think I can actually,  _physically_  do that! She's going to cry and I'm supposed to know what to do because I'm her mum but  _how am I supposed to know_? What if I'm too stupid to—"

"Donna, the time for this breakdown was really a bit earlier than this," Shaun said quite nervously, quickly standing up and gathering their coats. "Let's get to the hospital, love."

"I don't want to go yet!" Donna protested, suddenly grabbing at the Doctor's hands as if he would anchor her there somehow. "I'm not ready!"

"She's going to come out whether you're ready or not," the Doctor said sensibly, trying to pull his hands back.

"But you can do something, can't you? You're a doctor—an  _alien_  doctor! Can't you just give me something or point some buzzy thing at me and make it stop? Just make her stay in for another day or two until I'm ready."

The Doctor freed his hands and placed one on her back, encouraging her to stand up. "You know what? As it happens, I'm all out of beepy things  _and_  buzzy things today. You see, I—" He stopped, clapped a hand over his mouth, frozen for a second, then he very suddenly rolled over and snatched up his bucket again.

"Come on," Shaun hurried forward, reaching for Donna's hands. She was staring through tearful and horrified eyes at the Doctor while his entire body moved like a wave was going through and returned the crackers it had stolen from the world.

"But—but—"

Harry hurried to his feet, with Ganbri still fussing against his chest. "Give us a hug and we'll pass it on when he stops," he said. Donna took up the offer without hesitation. Harry squeezed her tight and Ganbri smiled at her despite the way his lip was wobbling with the threat of tears a moment ago.

There were a few more promises to keep them updated and wishes of luck as the couple put shoes and coats on. The Doctor managed a sound somewhere between a retch and a belch before his face vanished in the bucket again but, because it was accompanied with a wave of his hand, it might have been some sentiment of luck or love or reassurance. Donna was still crying, though she didn't seem quite so scared anymore. Then they were gone.

When the Doctor had himself under control, he didn't bother to roll onto his back again. His body relaxed, melting into the couch with his arms hanging off the side, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. He was exhausted, and Harry thought for the hundredth time that he ought to be in bed. There would be no getting him there now though. He was too tired to move and, though Harry was sure he could lift the weight, the Doctor was simply too tall for Harry to be able to carry him properly. Likely, he would just have to sleep on the couch until he'd regained some strength.

"Uncle Harry," the Doctor whispered happily after he'd caught his breath. "That's you."

It made him smile a bit. He had been an uncle before but, somehow, he didn't think it mattered at the time. His nieces and nephews were all strangers to him and he hadn't even met most of them by the time the Time War came around. But this was a new life. A better one. And he found that, this time, genetic family or not, he cared.

"And you?" he answered. "You can't be Uncle Doctor."

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous."

Perhaps if he had been feeling better, the Doctor might have taken that as a challenge and spent the next hour debating on why Uncle Doctor was perfectly acceptable. But he was so very tired.

"Fine," he muttered, eyes closing and sighing in defeat. "I suppose I'll be Uncle John."

"A good name."

"Well then, Uncle Harry," the Doctor groaned, his eyes still closed and his lips barely moving. "Could you fetch me something cold?"

By the time Harry came back with a cold wash cloth, the Doctor was asleep. He must have just barely been keeping himself awake for Donna's sake and now he was finally free to get the rest he needed.

Harry gently pushed on his shoulder, rolling him onto his back again, before placing the cloth on his forehead. The Doctor groaned and shifted but did not wake. Next, Harry laid a thin blanket over him, grabbing an extra one that he folded over a couple of times and laid over the Doctor's feet, and left a glass of cool water and box of crackers on the coffee table.

Ganbri played happily on the floor while Harry took the Doctor's bucket to clean it out. Their son had been extremely perceptive when it came to his parents since birth and his mood changed swiftly according to the way they felt. The Doctor must have been feeling better now that he was sleeping.

Harry came back with the baby monitor in his hand after he'd laid Ganbri down to sleep, a pillow and extra blanket tucked under his free arm. He couldn't leave the Doctor to sleep alone on the couch when he was so sick. What if he needed something?

The other couch was only made for two, which made it tricky to find a way to lie on comfortably. Harry turned this way and that, unsure of what to do with his feet for a long time. He was beginning to think that he should just lie on the floor when he got one leg perched up on the back of the couch and the other slung over the arm rest and was finally comfortable.

As he laid so awkwardly on the little couch, he thought about where his life had brought him. He'd just put his infant son to bed on his own, knowing all the clever tricks to calm him down without being told. He was sleeping on the couch so that he could make sure his sick husband was properly cared for and there was not a bit of him that felt irritated about it. At that very moment, he had a friend somewhere—a  _proper_  friend—giving birth to a baby that would call him Uncle and look up to him.

As sleep crept into his eyes, he smirked a little to himself at what was perhaps his most childish thought of the day.

_I am so damn good at being a grown-up._


	3. 2012 - New Lives and Old

** 2012 **

"Hmm," Ganbri hummed with emphasis. "Hmm.  _Hmmmm_."

The Doctor wasn't sure where he had picked that habit up from, but he found it adorable. Whenever he was presented with a puzzle or had to think about something, the toddler would tilt his head from side to side and  _hmm_  until he sorted it out. Jack had taught him to scratch his chin while he did it as well.

"Look here," the Doctor offered helpfully, pointing to a group of smaller rings Ganbri had piled off to the side. Ganbri looked at the pile and  _hmm_ 'ed again. The Doctor waited a little while longer before moving his hand to point out a specific area of the pile but Ganbri quickly grabbed it and pushed it away.

"Alright," the Doctor said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. Ganbri had never liked to be helped too much. He wanted to do things on his own. Even when he was learning to walk, he was very eager to pull himself free of his helper's hands and lunge forward on his own.

"You don't think that's a little too advanced for him?" Jack asked from his spot on the couch.

"No," the Doctor answered simply. "Maybe for you . . ."

It was an old thing that he'd dug out of the deepest forgotten closets of the TARDIS—a box full of thin metal rings and lines of different sizes. He had tried to teach Ganbri to write Gallifreyan with a pencil but the muscles in his hands weren't quite to developed enough yet, so he sought an alternative. This way, he could choose the right shapes to use from his little kit and lay them on top of each other.

Gallifrey was gone and, with it, its people and its languages, but the Doctor felt that it was somehow important to keep it alive where he could. Harry insisted that their priorities lie in English, but it was such an easy language to a Time Lord—even a one-year-old. He'd mastered the alphabet in record speed and, though he wasn't yet old enough to even speak the words properly, he could move the magnetic letters on the fridge around to spell a couple of basic words. The Doctor didn't see any harm in at least teaching him to write his name in Gallifreyan.

"Ba," Ganbri chirped happily, holding up a metal ring for his inspection.

"That's right," he said, smiling.

Ganbri put the ring down over top of the other ones. It wasn't quite in the right place but Ganbri noticed before the Doctor could say anything and put it right. He didn't stop to look for praise. He just leaned forward to look at the piles he had organized and began to hum again.

Harry stepped in through the front door, covered in oil and dirt and wiping his hands on a raggedly towel. He glanced at the metal rings on the floor but didn't say anything about them.

"Fixed it," he muttered, bending down to take his boots off.

The Doctor answered with a thank you and ignored the quiet chuckle that escaped Jack. He seemed to find it hilarious that the Doctor had been unable to find the source of the terrible grinding sound his car was making on his own. He had tried, as he usually was able to fix any machine put before him, but, in the end, he just couldn't figure out what was wrong. He blamed it on the fact that it was old and primitive technology that he wasn't used to. He also blamed it on the car, saying the car knew he didn't like it and so it didn't like him in return.

"Have they started yet?" Harry asked next, pulling off his shirt and carefully bunching it in his hands so it wouldn't drop dirt through the house.

"No," Jack answered lazily, flopping onto his side so that he could lay his legs over the armrest of the couch. "It's all just adverts and following the torch so far."

"Right, I'm jumping in the shower then."

"Toktok!" Ganbri suddenly shouted, twisting his little body right around so that he could hold up a metal ring for Harry's inspection. Harry had gotten himself a job at the university a couple of months before and his sudden disappearances from the house had made their son thirsty for his attention. He wanted to show Harry everything he found or mashed together and, more often than not, preferred to hold his Tokrah's hand whenever they went out.

"Yes, it's very good," Harry answered enthusiastically. "Show me when I get back, okay? I'll only be a minute. Banni will help you until then." He turned to leave the room and called back over his shoulder. "Or maybe Uncle Jack will, if he cares to get his feet  _off_  the sofa!"

"They're over the armrest!" Jack shouted back, then looked at the Doctor as though it was him who had said something. "They're not even touching!"

The Doctor simply shrugged at him. He didn't really care if there were feet on the couch or not and it was up to Jack to decide whether it was worth a fight with Harry. Jack crossed his arms stubbornly and left his feet where they were.

"He's gonna hit you," the Doctor warned with a smirk.

"He can try."

By the time Harry returned, Ganbri was almost finished constructing his name with only two pieces left. The word didn't sound long but it carried a lot of meaning, and so it was rather more of a bother to write than it would be in English.

Harry walked in with a towel around his waist and a light silk robe slung over his arm. "Alright, show me," he said happily to Ganbri as he moved to stand in front of the couch.

The second Ganbri had turned his eyes down at his project, Harry thumped Jack hard on the shoulder with his fist, earning a very satisfying  _oof!_  The Time Lord hadn't even glanced at him before he struck out, so the Doctor supposed that Jack just didn't see it coming, but he also suspected that sometimes Jack allowed himself to get hit because he kind of enjoyed it. He provoked Harry far too much to not enjoy it.

Jack quickly slung his legs back over the armrest and sat up properly, which then left space for Harry to sit down beside him. He leaned forward in his seat and made wonderful  _ooh_ 's and  _ah_ 's as Ganbri proudly showed off his work, making the boy grin gleefully.

"Banni's been teaching you lots while I'm at work, hasn't he?" Harry said with a perfectly happy tone while his eyes glanced at the Doctor with a look of amused annoyance.

"It's just his name," the Doctor felt compelled to answer.

"Yes, it's a hard one to make," Harry answered, speaking to Ganbri again. "Show me the next one then. Where's the next piece?"

They chatted for a few minutes while the Doctor sat cross-legged on the floor and helped Ganbri carefully selected the next piece for his name. Jack started a silent war with Harry, pinching and slapping each other whenever Ganbri looked away. The Doctor was so busy enjoying the company around him that he had completely forgotten that, a long time ago, he had already lived this day.

" _My God_!" a voice from the TV cried out. "Er, what's going on here?" Eyes turned toward the screen and the Doctor suddenly remembered what had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since Jack suggested that they watch the Olympic ceremonies together.

"Um . . . the crowd has vanished! U-um, they're gone. Everyone is  _gone_!" the announcer continued in a voice of hopeless confusion as the screen revealed a completely deserted stadium. "Thousands of people are just gone, uh . . . um . . . right in front of my eyes!"

"The hell is this?" Jack asked, leaning forward at the TV. "Mass abduction?"

"I'll call Grandfather," Harry said quickly as he began to stand up.

"Leave it," the Doctor answered, stopping both of the other men before they could stand. "It's fine."

"Um, it's impossible," the voice of the announcer continued, stammering helplessly. "Bob, shall we join you in the box?"

The Doctor watched as the screen flickered to another image empty of human life. Jack and Harry were both staring at him as though he had gone utterly mad. He tried to ignore it. It wasn't until he found what he was looking for that he even realized a part of himself was stretching out his telepathic muscles, using the techniques he had refined over the last couple of years to reach out.

"Bob?" whimpered the dismayed announcer. "Not you too, Bob!"

"What do you mean 'it's fine'?" Harry asked with a definite edge to his voice.

"In case you didn't hear the man, Bob's gone, Doctor," Jack added, pointing at the TV as though he thought the Doctor hadn't seen it. "Thousands of people just vanished into thin air. How is that fine?"

"It's already been taken care of," the Doctor answered simply. "They'll come back."

There was a slightly tense moment in which the two continued to stare at them. Jack was half way between sitting and being on his feet, anxiously glancing between the two Time Lords. That annoyed him. Once upon a time, Jack did whatever the Doctor told him to without question. These days it seemed that Jack always waited for Harry to agree. Harry claimed that Jack did the same thing to both of them, but the Doctor hadn't noticed it.

Harry was looking at him with those piercing eyes of his. He felt his presence pressing gently against his mind and the Doctor hesitated to let him in. Rose was there—just a faint echo, miles and miles away, but she was there. Suddenly he felt vulnerable, like a wounded animal protecting its nest. Something deep inside the shadows of his mind whimpered and let out quiet growls of warning as Harry crept closer.

Eventually, Harry found her. An old memory, living again, Rose was out there saving the world. The Doctor could feel her frustrations with Trish Webber, the empathy she felt for a frightened little girl, and the fear she felt for the Doctor himself. He was a little worried about how Harry might react—he'd always felt jealous of the Doctor's "women", Rose especially. They'd spoken of her before and the Doctor had made it very clear that, though Harry was the only person he wanted to be with, a small part of him would always love Rose. As he offered up the weak connection to his husband, he imagined that this must be how the Ood felt any time they held out their secondary brain to a stranger.

He could feel that Harry was uneasy, but he was kind. He reached through the connection himself, feeling and experiencing Rose, something he had never been able to do before. He never said a word. After a moment, he withdrew and left the Doctor to hold onto the connection alone.

"As he says, then," Harry said quietly to Jack, leaning back in his seat again and bringing a slightly forced smile to his face. "It's already sorted."

The Doctor tried to smile, but it felt a little harder than normal. Part of him was happy to feel Rose's presence again, but it had its bitterness too. He wished he could go find her now, just so he could thank her and let her know that she didn't have to worry about him so much—he was okay now.

The announcer on the TV continued with his panicked dialogue and they all sat in silence until the phone rang. Harry got up to answer it and his voice sounded perfectly cheerful as he explained to Donna that everything was fine. But the Doctor could see his eyes, and there was some shadow in them.

"Ba," Ganbri chirped, temporarily abandoning his project. His son had always been intuitive and, even at such a young age, was able to tell when someone could benefit from a hug. The Doctor found a true smile creeping across his face as the toddler climbed onto him, standing on his thighs to wrap tiny arms around his neck.

"That's my boy," the Doctor said happily, giving him a good squeeze.

_ Be glad _ , he thought.  _It turned it out best for all of us in the end._

And so he sent happy thoughts to Rose, wondering if she would even receive them through the pathetically weak connection he had managed to create. She was so very far away and so very frightened that he doubted she would manage to feel any of it, but he tried just the same.

Harry finished on the phone quickly, slipped his light robe on to better cover himself, and returned to the couch. "So where are you then?" he asked, making a conscious effort to reach his hand out and gently touch the Doctor's back.

"I'm actually in a drawing. Crayon and paper, that's all I am," the Doctor answered with a scratch of his head. "It's a long story."

"So what is it then?" Jack asked next. "Scientists? Slavers?"

"Just a pair of frightened children, that's all."

He didn't really feel like telling the story.

Harry watched him quietly for a moment through the corner of his eye and then suddenly sat up straight. "Right," he said loudly, clapping his hands together once to catch Ganbri's attention. "If you're going to learn this, you had better learn it properly. Come on then." With some careful adjusting of his robe, Harry slid onto the floor with them. He made a show of it, helping Ganbri finish spelling out his own name. He told Ganbri he was clever and that he would be writing books in no time, and Ganbri squealed happily. The boy was excited about it now and wanted to keep going, so Harry decided to teach him how to write 'Tokrah'.

"Just look at this!" a voice cried out from the TV. "Utterly  _incredible_  scenes at the Olympic Stadium. 80,000 athletes and spectators that disappeared—they've come back!"

Jack cheered and Ganbri copied him, throwing his hands in the air without knowing what he was celebrating. The Doctor smiled, feeling a small swell of pride inside, knowing that Rose had saved thousands that day all by herself.

Harry glanced at him with a bit of a smirk. "Are you going to be on the telly?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," the Doctor answered with a grin. "Any second."

Harry took hold of Ganbri by the waist and turned him towards the screen. "Look," he said, pointing. "Banni's going to be on telly. Keep watching."

Ganbri, young as he was, was clever enough to understand. His brown eyes grew wide and round, staring expectantly at the screen. The torchbearer collapsed, the flame rolling from his hand onto the street. The announcer narrated in dismay but Ganbri visibly tensed and quivered in excitement, knowing that the trouble could only mean one thing . . .

The Doctor thought it was a bit odd to watch himself appear on TV, but Ganbri squealed again and clapped his hands in delight. "Ba!" he shouted happily, pointing his finger at the screen.

"No way," Jack chuckled with a shake of his head.

Harry was quiet but smiling. He peered at the Doctor, eyes peeking at him over the dark tufts of their son's hair—that piercing stare that made him feel so exposed. Harry knew. Even without telepathy he knew that the Doctor was thinking of Rose. He knew this was her victory more than it was the Doctor's. He knew that the Doctor was proud of her for it, even now.

"Look at your daddy," Harry said, suddenly turning his eyes back down to Ganbri. "He saved the day, didn't he? Your Banni's a hero, you lucky boy."

The Doctor felt a presence prowling around the outskirts of his mind—territorial, defensive. Harry could still sense the connection with Rose but chose not to touch it, instead turning away from it disdainfully and pretending it didn't exist.

That was okay, he decided. That would be their middle ground. He could keep his memories and the love he felt for Rose in his head—he could think of her and remember her and even miss her. But she had no place in their lives. Those memories were not meant to be shared and her stories were not meant to be told. She had no place with Harry or Ganbri, like so many that had come and gone before her.

"Well done, Lahrre," Harry said quietly. "The Earth owes you another debt."

Rose's presence was fading, swallowed up in the senses of his past self, so he let it go. "Yes," he found himself saying without hesitation. "Well, I  _am_  brilliant."


	4. 2013 - Old Habits

**2013**

Harry was still fuming.

The doctor was a kindly, plump woman with a head of curly blonde hair and a perfectly cheerful disposition. It did nothing to calm Harry, but Wilfred was grateful for it anyway. She chatted with him happily, asking him about his family and his job while he gave her short, sharp sounding answers. She didn't mind.

Wilfred had to keep grasping at his wrists to stop him from trying to scratch at the scrapes on his arm that hadn't yet been bandaged. He held a small bag of ice against the Time Lord's bloodied knuckles and quietly reminded him that everyone was safe whenever he started to get a bit twitchy.

Ganbri had hit his head on the road when he fell. The doctors at the hospital had all assured them that he was fine, but they were doing a few tests to be sure. The Doctor was with the boy now, only having a few bruises himself, but Harry had been forced to leave them so that his own wounds could be treated.

His left arm and part of his back had been scraped raw by the road, his knuckles bleeding from the man he had hit, and his face kept a few souvenirs from being hit back. A sizable ring had left a gash in Harry's cheek and brow, his lip slightly swollen but not bleeding. He had been told that his knees and legs hadn't sustained any serious damage, but that they would likely be very swollen and painful for a few days. They were already bruising, the angry swollen red slowly turning to a sickening purple that was hot to the touch.

"Why haven't we heard back from them yet?" Harry said as the doctor cleaned out the wound on his brow. "How long does it take to do a simple scan?"

"Not to worry, dear, they'll be along soon enough," the doctor answered him merrily. "They just want to be really thorough—making sure your little boy's alright, that's all."

"A scan should take seconds," he grumbled, pulling his hand away to scratch at his road rash, only to have Wilfred yank it back again. "You would think the government would do something about the primitive technology in these damned hospitals."

"I'll ring the Prime Minister in the morning," Wilfred joked quietly, hoping to coax a smile from Harry. "Tell him you said so."

"That's who you remind me of!" the doctor said suddenly, stopping her work for a brief moment to get a better look at his face. "That P.M. we had a couple years back—the one who went mad. You know you look just like him?"

Harry's brows hung heavily over his eyes, giving them a dark look as he glared at her with what Wilfred could only imagine was loathing. "I've been told."

"You know, we never really got the proper story on what happened to him," the doctor continued as though she didn't even notice. She chattered about Harold Saxon and all the bizarre stories that surrounded him, completely oblivious to the fact that Harry was not just a look-alike.

And a face was not the only thing that Harold Saxon had left behind. His wrath had been dormant for a long time, sleeping away quietly to the lullaby of a happy life. Wilfred had almost forgotten about it until, for one remarkably fast minute, it woke up.

It had been a beautifully sunny day and they were going to meet Harry after work for a walk through the park. Ganbri toddled along happily, determined to walk the whole way without getting tired, while Wilfred held his hand and the Doctor pushed his stroller. They had to wait a few minutes outside the building before Harry emerged, a bit ruffled from his long day by the looks of it but smiling all the same.

They were halfway to the park when Ganbri finally gave in to his complaining legs. He wouldn't get into his stroller, instead lifting his arms up to his Tokrah and whimpering pitifully until Harry finally picked him up. Just a few blocks away from the park there was a crosswalk that was only a car's length from the turn of a street and, when they crossed, a car had sped around that corner and ran straight into their path.

Wilfred had been out of the way by less than a foot. The Doctor was knocked down, but the stroller between him and the vehicle had prevented anything worse than a couple of bruises. Harry only had just enough time to twist his shoulders so that his body shielded Ganbri from the impact. The car struck his legs, just low enough that it didn't crush his kneecaps, and knocked him to the road where it scraped his skin raw. Ganbri had been held tightly against his father's chest, but he still struck his head on the road when they fell together and immediately began to cry.

The Doctor was back on his feet before Wilfred was even sure what had happened. He tossed the broken stroller aside and rushed forward, pulling his wailing son from Harry's arms to look at him. He frantically searched the toddler for injury while barking questions at Harry about whether he was hurt.

For a moment, Wilfred was worried that something really was wrong when Harry didn't answer. He laid on the road, blinking slowly while his eyes lazily scanned the sky.

"Harry?" Wilfred had said quietly, stretching his hand towards him.

The driver had gotten out of his car and Harry's head slowly raised from the road, brown eyes watching the stranger carefully.

"Everyone alright?" the driver asked, while his eyes scanned the front of his car for damage. "Kiddie must be okay if he's making a racket like that, eh? Sure he just had a fright, that's all."

His voice was too casual. His eyes were too busy looking at his car instead of at the people before him. His body stayed at a comfortable distance instead of stepping forward to help or properly investigate. Wilfred practically heard the cogs turning in Harry's mind as he silently watched the behaviour and knew exactly what was coming next.

"Are you  _fucking insane_?" Harry hissed.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then struggled to get his damaged legs beneath him. Wilfred had once seen the Doctor leap from a flying spaceship to crash through the skylight and land on a hard marble floor without suffering too much damage. He was sure that if Harry had been human, his legs would have easily broken from the impact.

"What's that, mate?" the driver asked with an almost  _happy_  tone to his voice. "S'alright, innit? Look, everyone's fine."

"Everyone is  _not_  fine and it's  _not_  alright," Harry growled at him, drawing up his full height to glare at him. "You didn't even  _look_  before you came racing around that corner like you’re goddamned—"

"Hey,  _you_  were the one standing in the middle of the road!" the driver interrupted loudly.

"It's a  _crosswalk_  you unevolved piece of primal waste! Or have you never seen one before?"

"Harry!" the Doctor shouted at him. "Now is not the time! Ganbri hit his head!"

Harry turned his head to look. The driver said something about worrying about the kid rather than whose fault it was but Wilfred could tell by the look in those wide, wild eyes that the Time Lord didn't hear him. The Doctor was on his knees in the street, suit ruffled and one hand bleeding slightly from where he'd scraped it on the road, with Ganbri in his lap. He was checking his pupils, checking his head again, feeling along his limbs and bending his joints to find any damage.

For a moment, it was clear that that image was all Harry could perceive in the entire universe.

"My son," he said quietly, pausing a moment before turning his eyes back at the driver. "You could have killed my son," he stepped forward, suddenly acting oddly calm despite the fire flickering in his eyes. "You could have killed my husband."

If the man had been clever, he would have apologized then and there. If he had been _very_ clever, he would have gotten back into his car and driven away as fast as he could. If he had known what the man before him had done to protect his family in the past, he would have left the country.

Instead, he looked at Ganbri, then at the Doctor, then at Harry, seeming to finally piece it together, and smirked. "Maybe I would have been doing the boy a favour."

The attack was quick and brutal. The fool said his words and only had a split second to enjoy their flavour before Harry smiled at him and drove a fist into his mouth. The Doctor turned away quickly so that he could block Ganbri's view of the savage beating, but it did nothing to quiet the sickening thuds of flesh bruising and bones fracturing.

The man had managed to hit Harry a couple of times, his ring leaving the wounds that were now being cared for, but Wilfred doubted that it was any consolation to him. The fight lasted no more than a minute but, at the end of it, there was a chunk of hair blowing down the street like a tumbleweed, a humble spattering of blood, and two fragments of a human tooth on the road.

Harry stood over the man, picked a third tooth fragment from his hand, and flicked it at him. The man groaned and swore. Harry said nothing. For a second, he just stood there, admiring his work with a flicker of Saxon's old madness on his face.

Ganbri's face was bright red from crying as he kicked and fussed in the Doctor's arms. " _Toktok_!" he sobbed, holding his tiny arms out towards him while the Doctor continued to shield his eyes from the sight in vain.

Harry looked back over at his child and his husband. Harold Saxon melted away and Harold Mott returned. He limped to the Doctor's side and dropped down rather unceremoniously onto the road beside them.

"I'm here," he muttered quietly. "Sorry, little man."

The ambulances arrived shortly. So far, they'd been told that all the injuries were minor. Wilfred asked about the driver and was told that, while he wouldn't be winning any beauty pageants for a long time, he would live. The police arrived to ask questions. Then a bunch of very official looking people in some kind of military outfits showed up and the police quickly vanished. Wilfred didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

"Ohh, look what I found!" the doctor announced, holding out a pair of tweezers that were gripping a tiny pebble that she had pulled from the scrape in Harry’s arm. "Looks like the road gave you a going-away present. Wanna keep it?"

"No," Harry answered in what was almost a growl. His eyes were dark and anxious, his fingers tapping repeatedly against the table top that his arm was resting on, his foot jigging irritably despite his swollen knees.

"I suppose you've got enough souvenirs from the look of these scars," she touched one of the long slashes in his back. "Can I ask?"

Harry grumbled something about a tiger and asked her, as politely as he could manage, to hurry it up. No doubt he wanted to know what was going on with Ganbri and who the men in uniform were. The doctor continued chatting as she finished her work, commenting that it must be an exciting life if it included having tiger scratches. Wilfred thought it was an extremely odd life if it was easier to say a tiger scratched you than it was to tell the truth.

She was just applying the last of his bandages when the Doctor stepped in, holding a very tired looking Ganbri in his arms. "They say he's fine," he announced before anyone even had a chance to ask.

An odd little sound escaped Harry—a word half spoken that he quickly swallowed—and he held his arms out. The Doctor wordlessly handed over their son and Ganbri willingly wrapped his arms around his Tokrah's neck.

"Sorry I lost my temper," Harry said quietly, kissing the boy's head as he held him. "I didn't mean to scare you, buddy."

"You didn't," the Doctor answered knowingly.

"Oh . . . that's good."

"Is it?"

The Doctor's voice was sharp and, when Harry looked at him, his eyes were hard. They stared at each other for a long and rather tense moment until Harry's doctor pulled her gloves off.

"All done!" she announced as cheerfully as she could and thrust her hand towards the Doctor. "You must be John," she said with a smile. "I hear you're a doctor too."

"Yes," the Doctor answered, shaking her hand. "Thank you for taking care of him."

"No problem at all. Glad to see everyone's okay," she turned to look at Ganbri and smiled widely. "This little man must have been very brave." She reached her hand out to touch him, but Harry instinctively pulled away from her. He looked at the smile frozen on her face with widened eyes for a second before he relaxed and returned to his previous state, but the doctor chose not to attempt to touch Ganbri again.

"Just remember what I told you about the swelling and infection, and call if you need anything," she said happily and left the room.

After she had left, the Doctor looked Harry up and down, noting the bandages and the ice packs, the dark bruising that was appearing on his legs and knees. "I'm glad you're okay," he said in a much softer tone. "Thank you for protecting Ganbri the way that you did. I'll have a look at him myself when we get back home but I think they're right and it's nothing more than a goose egg. If you hadn't reacted the way you did, he could have been hurt a lot worse."

"Well, of course I—"

"I know," the Doctor interrupted. "But still. Just thanks."

Harry nodded and the room felt much calmer then. "And you?"

"Fine. Just a couple bruises. We'll need a new stroller though."

"I'll pick one up tomorrow."

"Good. Thanks." The Doctor shifted from one foot to the other. "Listen, there aren't going to be any charges. It's taken care of. But I've agreed to help U.N.I.T. with a job they're having some trouble with. I'll be gone for a couple of days."

"On your own?"

"Yes." The Doctor's voice had just enough firmness to it make it clear that it was not up for discussion.

"Okay," Harry agreed quickly. "That's fine. I'll take some time off work so I can stay home with Ganbri. I'm sure getting hit by a car is a good enough excuse for them."

Harry smiled and the Doctor managed smile in return.

"I'm going to go call Shaun then—see if he can come pick us up."

"Okay."

"Let's just have a quiet evening, okay?"

Harry nodded in agreement. "Tea and telly."

The Doctor looked and Wilfred and smiled. "You too, Grandfather," he said with a smile before he left.

Wilfred stayed at their home that night. They all settled on the couch with tea and blankets and watched an old black-and-white western. He slept in the big rocking chair in the nursery, even though there was a guest bedroom next door, so that he could take care of Ganbri if he woke. He thought it might be best if Harry and the Doctor could go the night without being disturbed.

In the morning, Harry helped the Doctor pack a bag, reminding him of the basic essentials that he tended to forget. In the afternoon, the escort arrived with four separate cars. Neighbours were peering curiously from windows or from their front doors as they saw him off, exchanging hugs and wishes of luck.

"I'll be home soon," the Doctor promised.

As the vehicles vanished down the street and the neighbours went back to their own business, Harry's brows moved together. "It was only a matter of time," he said quietly. "He'll find reasons to take the next few, and then he won't need any reasons at all. He'll be doing missions for them all the time soon."

"He loves the life you have together," was all Wilfred could think to say.

"He does," Harry agreed easily. "But he needs to move. He needs adventure. And that's okay. I had just hoped that Ganbri might be a little older."

Wilfred smiled, looking at the little boy in Harry's arms. One day he'd grow up and face monsters and madness and war. It was years down the road, and yet much closer than they would ever like to admit. Wilfred worried about the things that little boy would see. He worried about what things would be like when Ganbri returned from that battle. He worried that he wouldn't be there anymore when the Doctor and Harry had to face the hardest days of their lives as parents.

"They're never as old as you want them to be."


	5. 2014 - Lantern Light

** 2014 **

"You know why he wants to be a pumpkin, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

Harry smirked at his husband, watching in amusement as the Doctor stitched away. Every year since Ganbri was born, the Doctor had insisted on making his Halloween costume himself, but he always left it until the last minute. That had been fine for the last two years as they had always been something simple—Ganbri's first Halloween saw him dressed as a monkey (which was really nothing more than a slightly altered brown onesie), and he was one of the Ghostbusters for his second. But this year, Ganbri was approaching four years old, and he had his own ideas.

A pumpkin he wanted, so a pumpkin he would be. The costume had proven to be a bit more work than a simple clothing alteration, but the Doctor had still left all his materials sitting untouched until the night of October 30th. The moment Ganbri had gone to bed, the frantic work began and the kitchen became littered with abandoned pieces of wire and scraps of orange cloth.

"I mean, besides the Jack thing."

"I  _know_ ," the Doctor huffed irritably.

They had been discussing Halloween a month before when Ganbri asked why people carved out pumpkins. Jack told him a slightly altered version of the tale, claiming that he was the Jack in the story and that it was the reason he could never die. Ganbri immediately asked if Jack would dress "like he used to dress" and go trick-or-treating with him if he wore a pumpkin costume.

Harry leaned against the table top, idly twisting a piece of wire in his hands. "And have you figured out how you're going to explain it to the neighbours?"

"Glow-in-the-dark body paint."

"That turns on and off?"

"Hopefully he'll just keep it going but I can always just say we re-applied it."

"What's this?" Harry asked, holding up a piece of orange cloth that had three large holes cut into it.

"The mask. Look," the Doctor snatched it from his hands and held it up to his own face, even though it was far too small to line up with his features. "I'm going to put some wire in it so that everything holds a proper shape, obviously."

"What does he need a mask for? He's a pumpkin."

"Because we carve faces into the pumpkins."

"But you're putting a face in the costume," he protested, pointing out the large jack-o-lantern face that had already been cut out and wired in the round pumpkin suit.

"Yes . . ."

"So why does he need the mask?"

"Because I'm making one!" the Doctor snapped, then tossed some strips of wire and the mask at him. "Are you going to keep asking questions or are you going to make yourself useful?"

Harry eyed the wire and the odd little mask and sighed. "I'm going to pour some wine," he said. "Red or white?"

"Either, I don't care. Whichever you want."

He chose to walk the long way around the table, so that he could walk behind the Doctor and slide his hands around his waist. "You should care," he said quietly, pulling the other body against him slightly. "Because, you see, white wine is the sort of thing you drink when you plan to have a pleasant conversation and go to bed, but red wine is meant to be romantic. So which one do you want?"

"I've got to finish this, Harry . . ."

"Yes. And eventually you'll be done."

"It's already late."

"Shall I open the white then?"

Harry rested his head against the Doctor's, burying his nose in the dark hair and grinning to himself. The Doctor's hesitation as he glanced at the clock meant that Harry had already won. The Doctor just had to admit it to himself first.

"Red," the Doctor said finally.

"Excellent," Harry said cheerfully, releasing him and quickly going in search of wine glasses.

"But you have to help me with this!" the Doctor added firmly.

"Of course, Lahrre."

Finishing the costume took longer than he'd thought but the Doctor had never needed as much sleep as Harry did. Even when they were kids, he would fall asleep amongst the trees of the woods or in the grass of the fields while his friend carried on playing and exploring without him. So, when they finally made their way to bed, Harry was told to lie back and rest before the Doctor vanished beneath the sheets, pecking kisses along Harry's body as he slithered downward.

The Doctor was already up and dressed by the time Harry woke up, standing in front of the mirror as he finished his morning routine. Harry groaned sleepily, making a show of stretching his arms over to the empty side of the bed in search of the missing body.

The Doctor simply raised his eyebrow and continued working on his tie. "You might want to cover yourself."

He could hear the footsteps too. No sooner had he pulled the sheet over himself than the bedroom door flung open and Ganbri burst into the room. He really ought to teach him to knock.

The boy howled and wailed in his best imitation of a ghost, flapping the white blanket he had slung over his shoulders enthusiastically. It wasn't until Ganbri had leapt up onto the bed and left a great white smear across Harry's arm that he realized his son had used toothpaste to attempt to paint his face white.

"I'll do it," the Doctor said with a sigh, lifting a kicking and laughing Ganbri off the bed. "Your meeting is in two hours. Don't forget, you're meeting us at Donna's afterwards."

The meeting was boring as hell, but successful. The university had learned very quickly that Harry was particularly skilled in the art of charm and had a knack for getting people to do whatever he wanted. A little telepathic hypnotism never hurt either.

His project got the funding, his research for the next one got approved, and he convinced the board to hire his favourite intern as a paid employee. Gareth was a good, hard-working kid but he had an extra helping of ruthlessness where the others didn't that meant he never failed. He would be sure to tell Gareth himself that he had been chosen as Harry's assistant, so that the boy would understand where his loyalty would best serve him.

He first noticed something odd when he stopped by his office to sort the paperwork from the meeting. He was sitting at his desk, sipping a cup of coffee to banish the last of his weariness, when he thought he saw something from the corner of his eye. Something dark and small, scurrying across the floor. He thought it must have been a mouse or a bug, but he couldn't smell anything, nor taste any unusual hormones in the air. He supposed he must have imagined it.

He somehow misplaced some of his papers, though he was sure he had it in his hands not moments ago. He spent some time searching for it, accidentally shutting his thumb in his desk drawer and then knocking his coffee cup over when he jumped up. It was then that he paused and gazed around the room suspiciously.

"What mischief is this?" he asked aloud.

The room was still and silent. He shook his head, cursing himself for a fool and reminding himself that he was prone to wild imaginings and hallucinations. He left the missing paperwork to be found another day, mopped up his spilled coffee, and headed off to join his family in their Halloween celebrations.

Wilfred was already on his third pumpkin by the time Harry arrived. The old man bragged shamelessly about his unmatched skill when it came to carving pumpkins and the Doctor decided to challenge him on it. It led to a race between the two, with Ganbri and Annie crying out cheers as the two men frantically scooped, cut, and carved. Wilfred won, and he declared that the children should get to choose the Doctor's form of punishment. Jack arrived to the sight of the Doctor pushing his face into a bowl full of mushy pumpkin insides in search of a coin that had been hidden, with Annie enthusiastically helping some of the pumpkin guts find its way inside his ears.

"I usually prefer something a little warmer when I do that," Jack said with a smirk. "And preferably squirming."

Nearly a dozen newly carved pumpkins were set outside to wait for the dark and the family settled down to watch some film called Casper. Harry had never seen it before, nor did he really understand it. It baffled him that a film in which the lead character is a dead child that is bullied and lonely in his afterlife was meant to be funny or cute in any way. But the kids liked it, so he supposed that meant it was alright.

The movie ended and the children demanded scary stories. Stories were told of ghosts, lake monsters, vampires and the like. Ganbri finally turned to Harry and asked him to tell a story, but suddenly the only stories he could think of were ones where  _he_  was the monster. He couldn't imagine that the story of how he came back from the dead, roasted some people alive, and then ate a couple of tramps was what they had in mind.

"Did I ever tell you that I met a  _real_  werewolf?" the Doctor jumped in to rescue him.

They had just reached the part where the Doctor was trapped in a library with an enormous werewolf prowling around it when Harry saw something dark in the corner of his eye. Before he had a chance to look at what it may have been, the lights suddenly burst with a loud pop and left them sitting in darkness. The children squealed in fear that was only half genuine and Jack unleashed his best villainous laugh without missing a beat.

Shaun wandered off into the dark to switch the fuse back on. The various thumps and barely quieted curses told Harry that he stubbed his toe at least once and tripped over something else. When the lights came back on, it was discovered that someone had left the tap running in the kitchen, the water already filling the sink and spilling to the floor. Harry gave the house a quick search as the mess was cleaned up but found no traces of anything unusual—no signs of something being in the house.

He supposed he  _did_  imagine things sometimes and he knew how important it was not to obsess over those false realities.

Finally, it was the moment the children had been waiting for. With costumes on and decorated pails in their hands, they burst from the front door into the darkened night. The streets were crawling with ghouls and goblins of all shapes and sizes. Annabelle glittered and jingled as she walked in her fairy princess costume, while Ganbri finally began a slow release of the time energy he'd been holding in for a month so that he could glow like a proper jack-o-lantern. Jack had been true to his word and worn clothing from centuries past, complete with some makeup to make him look older and dirtier, to play the part of Stingy Jack.

Garbage bins fell over, car alarms went off, cats and foxes darted across the street with shrieks of terror. It certainly felt like Halloween, but it began to feel too much like it. There was a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather, and the adults of the group began to exchange concerned glances. At one moment, when the street seemed abandoned except for their group, the Doctor slipped his sonic screwdriver from his pocket and waved it around for a moment but didn't seem to find anything of consequence.

"You guys are a bit paranoid," Shaun muttered with a shrug of his shoulders. "It's Halloween. It's supposed to be creepy."

"Sorry, Shaun, but you don't get to be as old as us without being a tad paranoid," the Doctor answered a bit sharply. Even if Harry couldn't feel it rolling off him in telepathic waves, it was easy to tell that the other Time Lord was feeling a little tense.

The children toddled along cluelessly. Annie grabbed at the edges of her frilly and sparkling skirts and swished them this way and that as she walked, holding her chin high and looking positively regal. Ganbri's costume wobbled back and forth as he walked, but he took delight in the way other children pointed at him,  _ohh_ -ing over the way he glowed in the dark night.

When one little girl dressed as a garden gnome rushed to him and excitedly blurted, "How did you  _do_  that!?" Ganbri grinned wide and pointed at Annabelle.

"Fairy dust."

As they walked away, the little girl could be heard telling her mother that she had just seen a  _real_  fairy. Annie held her chin a little higher after that.

But as children left and right enjoyed themselves, Harry began to notice that other parents were beginning to look concerned as well. A woman walked by in a huff, carrying a shoe with a broken heel in one hand. As she passed, the heel on her other shoe suddenly broke and she stumbled straight into Jack's arms.

The group carried on without him, leaving him to flirt as long as it took to get the woman's number. Within a couple of minutes, they came across a man sullenly pulling a tree branch out of his broken windshield, though the tree he was parked under was not so much as swaying in the wind.

Stubbed toes, bee stings, stalling engines—it was not hard to find an adult in distress. And yet every child walked down the street with a smile on their face.

Minutes later, a bat flew straight into Donna's hair. While she screamed and flailed, Shaun tried desperately to untangle it, and was rewarded with Donna's purse hitting him below the waist in her panic. No sooner was the bat free and they were back on their way did the Doctor trip over his own feet and tear the knee in his suit, knocking Harry over on his way down. Both Ganbri and Annie giggled at them, thinking that they were all playing up and trying to scare them, and carried on with their door-to-door quest for treats happily.

When Jack finally caught up, he looked from one adult to the next. "What the hell did I miss?"

Donna's hair was a mess and she was still a bit shaky. Shaun was still standing rather odd and bore a few scratches on his hands from the bat. The Doctor had scratches too, plus the torn suit, and Harry palms were scraped from his fall.

"Do you not notice that something strange is happening?" the Doctor asked him.

"No," Jack answered easily as he slipped a piece of paper into his pocket. "Well, I mean, I'm taking Cheryl for a drink tomorrow instead of tonight, so I guess that's a bit odd. But, you know, with the kids and all . . ."

"I got attacked by a bat!" Donna barked. "I've probably got rabies or something!"

When the children returned from yet another doorstep with a few more pieces of candy, Ganbri grabbed hold of Harry's sleeve and tugged on it gently. He wouldn't say anything until Harry got to his knee so that Ganbri could whisper shyly in his ear, "I have to go pee."

There was a convenience shop nearby that would be open. Harry quickly excused them and took Ganbri's hand to lead him down the street, hurrying along as much as a three-year-old could manage. Ganbri didn't have accidents very often anymore, but when the kid said he had to pee, it meant  _now_. The moment they were through the shop door, Ganbri bolted towards the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Alright, mate?" the teenaged girl behind the counter said.

Harry nodded and uttered a word of greeting.

"Had about twenty of them in here already," the girl said, nodding her head towards the bathroom. "So far, they've all made it."

"Lucky," Harry answered.

Though, when he began to look around the shop, he realized that maybe she wasn't so lucky. He spotted three broken nails and a fresh purple bruise surfacing on her elbow that could only have been an hour or so old. There was a wet floor sign near the slush-puppie machine, out of order signs on the coffee machine and on the heater for baked goods. There were shards of glass in the rubbish bin behind the counter.

"Had any trouble tonight?" he asked.

"What, you mean pranksters? No, nothing like that," she sighed and gestured towards the broken coffee machine. "Plenty of clumsy people though. I swear, I've had to clean something up after every second customer in here. Hey, how'd you make your kid glow like that?"

"Glow-in-the-dark body paint," he recited, distractedly looking around the shop.

"Where'd you get it from? It's good."

"Sorry, I don't know. My husband got it."

"Oh. Right." She looked at him a bit oddly but quickly changed it to a smile. He chose not to look into it. It was only that irritating tingle creeping up his spine making him paranoid.

Ganbri came out a minute later, only to turn around and rush back in because he forgot to wash his hands.

"Great costume, little man," the girl said kindly when Ganbri emerged for the second time. "Happy Halloween!"

"Thank you!" Ganbri answered happily as he pulled his mask back down over his face.

They stepped back out into the chilly October night in much less of a rush than before. Harry could hear a car alarm beeping a couple of blocks away and a fog was beginning to roll in. None of it was helping that uncomfortable feeling crawling around under his skin.

"Daddy, it's scary," Ganbri said quietly.

"It is a bit," Harry agreed. "But that's just because it's Halloween. It's supposed to be a little scary."

"Oh," Ganbri squeezed his hand a little tighter and pointed across the street with his free hand. "Is that a ghost?"

Harry was about to answer with an automatic 'no', but the word caught in his throat when he looked up. There was a deathly white man walking towards them, but it was not a man in costume. Harry knew his face and he wasn't human. Nor was he alive.

"You're dead!" he shouted without thinking, quickly shoving Ganbri behind him. "You stay away from my son!"

He was a hallucination. That was all. Harry had been feeling a bit off all day. He was stressed—from that stupid meeting or something. His mind was playing tricks on him, that was all.

"You can't be here."

But the man continued to approach, tilting his head slightly to the side as though he were confused. He looked solid enough, except that he began to blur around the edges. His fingers and ears were translucent, and his hair swayed in an unnatural way, as though he were underwater.

He wasn't real. He couldn't be. Gallifrey was gone and the Time Lords with it. Dead, all of them. Dead.

He almost believed that right until the man got a little too close for comfort. Harry panicked and threw a punch as soon as that eerily white jaw was within reach. It felt like punching sand, the form of that face sifting away into nothingness and leaving him to swing through air.

Ganbri shouted in fright and Harry felt tiny fingernails dig into his leg. The image of the man in front of him had collapsed into nothing but wisps of fog and he didn't want to wait to see if it would reform. He hoisted Ganbri up with one arm and ran. He wasn't risking a fight as long as he had Ganbri with him.

But the fog rushed in front of him before he got more than a few strides and quickly formed up again. This time it was a friendlier face.

"Jinnar," Harry gasped, his feet nearly tripping over each other in their hurry to stop before he ran into the new form. "What is this?"

"Apologies," Jinnar answered with an oddly cheerful voice. "I did not mean to frighten you."

Jinnar died young—the tender age of seventy-three—but the man before Harry looked as Jinnar had when he was even more of a child. His jaw had not widened and strengthened yet, and only bore a light coating of stubble instead of the full beard he grew later in life. This was Jinnar as he had been when he stood, terrified, in their parents' home and watched the Master die for the first time.

"What are you?" Harry demanded loudly. "How are you doing that?"

"It is simple atomic manipulation. I am merely energy and your eyes cannot see me as I am. I wanted to create a form that was familiar to you."

"Yeah, well, you picked a bad one," Harry growled in response. Ganbri was crying a little bit from the fright, but he was a brave boy and was already quieting down. Harry shifted the little body in his arms to hold Ganbri against his chest, ignoring the way his pumpkin costume bent against the pressure, and put a hand protectively on the back of his head.

"I understand. Again, I apologize," the stranger replied, bowing his head politely. "Is this new form acceptable?"

Jinnar had always been a sweet boy. He died before he was able to fully comprehend the monster his older brother had become, and so he had died still loving him.

"Yeah," he answered, somewhat shakily. "What do you want?"

"I am afraid to say that I may not want anything from you. I am looking for an old friend and seem to have made a mistake. I was under the impression that this planet was frequented by only one Time Lord."

"You're looking for the Doctor?"

"Do you know him?" the form asked eagerly. Harry didn't like  _how_  eagerly.

"He's mine," he answered, clutching Ganbri a little closer to him.

Jinnar's head tilted one way and then the other, observing him with wide and curious eyes. "He is your mate?" he asked, after a moment of thought.

"Yes."

"How lovely," the stranger smiled widely. "Then perhaps he has told you of me. As I said, we are old friends. My name is Samhain."

"Is that a f—" Harry stopped himself, remembering that Ganbri was listening. "Is that some kind of joke?"

"No. Why? Is it funny in some way?"

"It's Halloween."

"Yes, I am told that is what they call this day now," the stranger answered with a knowing nod. "Once, they called it the Festival of Samhain. After me, you know. This is the day that my costumers and I come to visit."

Harry raised an eyebrow and wondered if he should even ask. "Your customers?"

"Yes. My people are fond of learning and experiencing other worlds. You may not know this, but there is a rift in the fabric of time and space not far from here, as there are in many places on your planet. This one is very small but, on this night, it tends to open a little wider and allows us to travel through it. I lead groups of my people through to explore," Samhain smiled widely and rubbed his hands together in excitement as he spoke.

"You're a tour guide . . ."

"Oh, yes. And it never fails to amaze me how welcoming this planet is! The humans here have welcomed us into their homes and treated us as family. They leave gifts and other treats for my customers to collect and take home with them. It has proved to be a very prosperous business, thanks to the co-operation of the people of Earth."

"They thought you were ghosts," Harry interrupted bluntly. "They think you  _are_  their family."

"Yes, the Doctor also made such a claim," Samhain answered, tilting his head again. "Though I have explained to the humans that we are merely visiting from another world and that we must return before dawn. They seem to understand and always welcomed us back the next year."

"Yeah, but—" Harry stopped, sighed, and gave it up. The Doctor would have explained it to him already and the innocent curiosity in those eyes clearly stated that he simply didn't understand it. "Listen, there seems to have been a lot of odd things happening tonight—unpleasant things."

"Yes," Samhain answered quickly, a furrow appearing on his pale brow. "That is why I was looking for the Doctor. Unfortunately, I have no control over the rift. The door opens, and I step through, but I cannot close it behind me. I believe a group of kreggas came through behind us—mischief makers and pests. I wanted to ask the Doctor for his assistance in herding them back before they cause too much trouble. It's bad for business, you see."

"This is ridiculous," Harry grumbled with a shake of his head. "Alright, come on then. I'll take you to him."

Samhain followed behind him eagerly. He chatted about tours in years long past and how the way Earth's people greeted them had changed over the years. They no longer held formal dinners as they once did, when each household would save room at their table for one of Samhain's customers, but instead left their homes open to groups.

"They hold such lovely parties," Samhain said merrily. "The music of this age is so interesting. Though, I must say, I do miss the dinner parties because you got to see many more humans. It seems the parties they hold now are primarily for us, and so there are few humans there. It is still greatly appreciated though!"

Harry had no idea what the hell the creature was talking about. If it wanted a party with lots of humans on Halloween night, there were plenty to be found as long as you followed the noise. He didn't care either way, nor was he bothered to offer advice. This thing clearly didn't understand how humans worked if it thought that Halloween was a celebration of inter-planetary friendship.

Ganbri had grown quiet now. He watched the spirit-like being with silent curiosity and kept his fingers curled firmly in his father's shirt—listening so very carefully. Harry wondered if Ganbri was at all aware that the ghostly face was that of his own uncle. Probably not. Probably best not to mention it either.

The only uncles Ganbri needed to think he had were Shaun and Jack.

"I heard you mention you had a son," Samhain piped up as they made their way back towards the group. "If you are the Doctor's mate, does that mean it would be the Doctor's son as well?"

"Yes . . ." Harry answered warily.

"How wonderful," the ghostly figure smiled. "I should like to meet him."

Harry continued walking with the creature in a stunned silence for a moment before he was able to form words. "Do you not  _see_  the child I have had with me this entire time?"

Samhain's head tilted curiously to the side again. Harry were certain that if he had taken the shape of a dog, right now his ears would be perking up and his tail wagging slowly with uncertainty.

"Was there a child?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"You are unbe— _look_ ," Harry said irritably, holding Ganbri forward a bit and pulling the mask from his face. "How can you not see him? He's glowing and everything."

"Oh!" Samhain said in what sounded like genuine surprise. "What a clever trick, disappearing like that!" he leaned a little closer to get a better look, and Harry felt his son cling to him a little tighter. "I like your father very much," the creature said to the boy merrily. "Not this one, the other one. Though this one's nice too."

The figure of mist carried on walking, smiling as though he were going for the most pleasant stroll of his life. Harry decided that it might be best to just not say anything more.

When they turned the corner of the street where the others were waiting, it was clear that they had missed something. Annabelle was crying, though appeared unhurt, while Shaun stood with his head tipped back with a tissue to his nose. Before they had a chance to approach or say anything, Donna looked up and saw them.

"Oh, now what the hell is that?" she said loudly, pointing at them.

The Doctor's head whipped around. "Sam!"

"Doctor!" Samhain answered happily. His misty figure gave up on trying to create moving legs and, instead, they just blurred into nothing as the top half of the image floated forward happily. "I have just been acquainted with your mate and offspring. I'm happy for you, friend."

"Thanks," the Doctor glanced around at the others in the group and shrugged a bit awkwardly. "Everyone, this is Samhain. I'll explain later. Sam, this is everyone else. Now, what the hell is going on?"

"Kreggas," Sam answered plainly.

The Doctor waited a moment, then realized that there was no more information being offered. "Right. Okay. I need a bit more to go on than that."

"They are like me," Samhain added. "Energy, but they can create forms. Much smaller than us, yes, but tricksters. I don't think they will hurt anyone, but they are an awful nuisance—terrible for business."

"I still have no idea what you guys are talking about," Jack said with a shake of his head. "I haven't had any trouble."

Samhain looked directly at Shaun and said in a sympathetic voice, "Forgive me. It does look like you  _have_  though."

"I have," Shaun answered quickly, still dabbing at his bleeding nose. "He said that."

Samhain looked in the direction Shaun pointed but his eyes clearly showed that he saw nothing of note. He stared off into the distance even when Jack waved at him.

"Why can't you see people?" Harry blurted irritably. "Can you not see him moving?"

Samhain sighed. "Everything on your planet moves. Even your sky and your air moves. It is difficult for my eyes to understand. I'm sorry, but I see no one."

"It's because he's in costume," the Doctor muttered, grabbing Ganbri's mask from Harry's hand and putting it back over his son's face. "Sam's people are just barely able to perceive humans as being different from their surroundings. If we disguise ourselves, especially if we cover our face, they can't really see us. It's like trying to find stick bugs. We just visually don't make sense to them."

"That's why the kids have been untouched," Harry said, nodding with understanding. The kids were all in costume. The comment about the parties earlier suddenly made much more sense.

"The beings from Sam's world understand energy better than matter. Once, people used to guide their way by building fires or lighting lanterns," the Doctor explained quickly. "Sam and I met because he was attracted to the energy that the TARDIS gave off."

The Doctor met his eyes but didn't say the rest. Raw time energy was much stronger than fire or light or the residue of a TARDIS flight. Ganbri could be the brightest beacon they'd ever see.

Harry quickly made sure that his mask was secured properly.

"Do kreggas work the same way?" the Doctor asked.

"Yes," Samhain answered simply, then tilted his head to one side. "Is that helpful?"

"It means we have a sure way to gather them."

When the Doctor looked at him again, Harry's eyes widened. "No, we don't!" he protested quickly, clutching Ganbri protectively. "You can light a bloody bonfire or something! Use your screwdriver—maybe it won't be so useless for once!"

"With every minute, these things are spreading out and getting further from the rift. We can go back to the TARDIS and make an energy beacon of some sort, but the rift will close before dawn. The longer we take, the less chance we have that the kreggas will have time to make it back."

"Wait, what's he mean?" Donna asked, glancing nervously between the Time Lords.

"He wants to use the kid as gremlin bait," Jack offered.

"Not quite, but thanks, Jack," the Doctor said in aggravation. "You heard Sam; they don't hurt people."

"Sorry, mate, but my bloody nose would suggest otherwise," Shaun argued.

Samhain smiled widely at Shaun. "Oh, are you the Doctor's mate too?"

Shaun frowned at him. "Yeah. Why?"

"Not that kind of mate, Sam," the Doctor muttered quietly, then raised his hands and his voice. "Alright, now listen! We have a bunch of invisible little mischief demons loose on the streets—"

"And you think the appropriate response is to sic them on my son?"

The Doctor glared at Harry and took a deep breath before continuing. "If he releases it faster, Ganbri's time energy will attract the kreggas better than anything else we can scrape together on such short notice. If we take Ganbri to the rift and keep his mask on, they won't even be able to see him."

"Yeah, but they're still heading straight for him," Donna protested louder than anyone else. "They can still find him."

"But they won't recognize him as a living thing, so they won't bother him. They'll congregate and bask, that's all."

"And then what?" Jack asked.

"I have some colleagues with me," Samhain answered, staring in Jack's general direction with unseeing eyes. "We can round them up easily and take them through the rift once they are gathered. This is a good plan. This will work."

"Still not using my son as a monster magnet," Harry answered firmly. "You brought them here, tour guide, you catch them on your own."

"All he needs to do, Lahrre, is unleash his energy. That's  _it_. We'll do every—"

" _No._ "

There was a long moment of silence. Harry wasn't sure what the others did, probably just looked awkwardly at each other he supposed. His eyes were trained on the Doctor, keeping a firm gaze to make it clear that he would not move on this.

His carelessness as a father had cost him three children and he would not make that mistake again. Not this one. Not this one that he carried and grew beneath his own skin. Not this one whose hearts had beat with his own, whose first dreams he had shared, whose first blood had come from Harry's own veins. He would not let his stupid and selfish decisions leave him childless again.

"I can catch monsters," Ganbri's quiet voice spoke. "I'm brave."

The Doctor stepped forward and Harry stepped back, giving him a warning glance. He wasn't sure what the other Time Lord had intended to say or do, but while the Doctor was now his husband, they had once been enemies. He knew how manipulative the old devil could be.

"I know you're brave," Harry answered his son quietly. "But you're still very little."

"I can be big."

"You don't have to be big yet. You can be big when you're older."

"But Toktok," Ganbri leaned in very close to Harry's ear and whispered as quietly as he could manage. "Annie wants to be a fairy princess."

Harry glanced down at his son in confusion, not sure what kind of nonsense was going on in that three-year-old mind. But Time Lords are smart and he remembered being three, himself. He remembered understanding and he remembered being clever. Most of all he remembered that he already knew how to plan and manipulate.

It wasn't until he saw the way Ganbri smiled as his skin suddenly turned from a dull glow to the bright shine of a star and took away any power of opinion his Tokrah might have had, that he realized what the boy had been thinking.

Princesses loved heroes.


	6. 2015 - Time For Grown-Ups

**2015**

It had been a long week. The Doctor had just come back from a trip to Spain to deal with the crashed Bivvien ship and UNIT had thought it a good idea to assign Cassie on the job with him.

 _Cassie_. If he had known they were going to send Cassie with him, he would have slipped away and done things his own way, but they had been clever and made sure that no one told him who his partner would be until he had already shown up at headquarters and agreed to go. Four bloody days with  _Cassie_  constantly at his side, saluting everything in sight and constantly badgering him about protocols. If the government told that woman to sit in a vat of acid until she was relieved of duty, she would stay there until there was nothing left but the acid and a few foul-smelling bubbles.

Communications with the Bivviens didn't go well either as they seemed to be under the impression that Spain's ground had damaged their ship and therefore they had a right to seize that ground as compensation. For some reason they didn't understand why that was considered to be a threat of hostile invasion and the humans involved didn't understand why the Bivviens didn't understand. It had been an awful lot of too many people talking and not enough people thinking. His head ached at just the memory of it.

But he had something good to look forward to now.

UNIT insisted that he travel with them in their ground vehicles whenever he did a job for them and so he sat impatiently in the back seat of a bullet proof car with blacked out windows as it drove at a painfully slow speed. He had hated being driven in UNIT's cars at first because it drew so much attention from the neighbours but, after nearly two years, they were all used to it. UNIT vehicles simply meant that Doctor John Noble was going on a business trip and no one thought much of it anymore.

"You must be excited to get home, sir," Cassie said cheerfully, gesturing towards his left knee, bouncing with impatience.

He nodded noncommittally. Cassie usually tried to make small talk with him when they drove anywhere. Anything longer than half an hour of travel left him completely exasperated because she simply never gave up. Harry said that he thought Cassie just wanted to be friends. The Doctor suspected he was right. Cassie was a good person at heart really; she was just so damned annoying.

"How's your little one doing?" she asked next. "If you don't mind my asking."

"Not so little anymore," the Doctor answered, feeling a slight tug of a smile at the corner of his lips. "He's growing like a weed. I swear I've bought him six pairs of shoes this year already because he keeps outgrowing them."

"Yeah, they tend to do that."

Did Cassie have children? He'd never asked. Was she even married? She didn't have a wedding ring on. Though he supposed not everyone wore them or people didn't bother to even get married in this day and age. After all, he and Harry weren't married yet when Ganbri was conceived.

"I've got two girls," Cassie added, answering his unasked questions as though she had known he was thinking of them. "Nine and eleven. Their dad takes them full time. I get them on the weekends. Well, when we're not on the job, that is."

He didn't want to encourage the chatter but the thought of what she just told him made him sad. "That must be hard," he said quietly. He missed Ganbri terribly and he'd only been gone for four days. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to go without him for a week at a time on a regular basis.

"It is," Cassie answered with a slightly softer voice, though she kept her smile all the same.

The car turned a corner and familiar houses began to drift past the windows. His hearts sped up a little as they travelled down his street towards his little white house.  _Home_.

His mind instinctively reached out, looking for the connection that it was so used to now that it almost hurt to be away from it. He quickly found Harry reaching back to him. They linked together, and the Doctor felt warm and whole again. He relaxed in his seat a little, a gentle smile spreading across his face. He couldn't yet see the house, but he knew that Harry would be calling Ganbri downstairs because Banni was coming home.

"Don't think I see anyone quite so happy to get home from a mission as you, sir. Most people at UNIT live for the job," Cassie started up again.

He didn't feel as annoyed this time, only because he was enjoying the sensation of another presence in his mind for the first time in four days. "Well, I didn't appreciate what it meant to have a home or a family until I lost them all. Now I understand how important it is."

"I'd heard about that," she answered. "They say that your whole planet is gone."

She was ruining his happiness of that moment. He didn't like talking to Cassie for exactly this reason. Her idea of getting to know each other was to poke at old wounds he'd rather have left alone. If she wasn't doing that, she was blathering on about patriotic duty or some other nonsense. He didn't want to think about the things he'd lost. He wanted to think about what he had.

Thankfully she seemed to understand the hardened expression on his face and kept quiet. Harry felt the change in him and he felt a little extra warmth flow through him, giving him an image of Ganbri hurriedly putting his shoes on.

As the car pulled up to the house, he saw Harry standing in the open doorway with Ganbri practically vibrating with excitement at his side. The second the car had stopped, the Doctor flew open his door.

"Hello!" he shouted happily, quickly getting to his knee on the sidewalk and opening his arms.

Ganbri burst forward from the door, rushing across the small patch of grass between them and jumping into his father's arms. "Hi, Banni!"

He squeezed tight making a great deal of making it seem like he had to put a lot of effort into picking the four-year-old off the ground. "Oh, you're heavy!" he exclaimed. "Did you grow while I was away?"

"Yeah!" Ganbri answered gleefully. "Tokrah says I'll be as tall as you one day."

"Of course you will." He smiled when he said it but he did feel a little sting in his hearts. He actually knew for a fact that Ganbri would be as tall as him one day, but it would not be a happy day. The slightest thought of it made him remember the stench of blood and a terrible snarling in his head, but he quickly tried to banish it before anyone picked up on it. That day was years away. Best not to think about it now.

"As always, sir," Cassie's said behind him, catching his attention. "It has been a pleasure and the people of Earth thank you for your service."

He turned to see that she had gotten out of the car to salute him. "Oh, don't do that," he grimaced. Ganbri raised his tiny hand against his forehead to salute back at Cassie and the Doctor hurriedly grabbed at it with his free hand to pull it back down. "You especially!"

Cassie smiled. "Have a good night, Doctor," she said as she turned to get back in the car.

"Banni," Ganbri began as the Doctor carried him back towards the house. "When you take your shoes off, can I show you what I made? After you sit down."

"Of course you can," he answered happily.

"It doesn't count if you  _ask_  before he takes his shoes off either," Harry said sternly, crossing his arms. Harry had been trying for a couple of weeks now to teach Ganbri to wait until his parents had had a moment to relax after coming home before bombarding them with requests and stories. The Doctor didn't mind Ganbri's eagerness, but Harry was usually in need of a little quiet when he came home.

"You can go get it now but wait to ask next time, okay?" the Doctor said kindly as he put the child down.

"Okay," Ganbri answered happily, hurriedly kicking his shoes off.

"Where do shoes go?" Harry asked before Ganbri could run off. The boy quickly picked up the discarded shoes to return them to the closet. "Good boy. Now you can go."

Ganbri grinned and hurried off. The second their son was around the corner, Harry quickly placed a hand on either side of the Doctor's face and pulled him in for a kiss. It was a bit more forceful than expected and the Doctor lost his balance slightly, bumping into the wall beside him. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the taste of the narin and the wonderful thoughts washing over him.

"You're supposed to wait until I've at least got my shoes off," he teased when Harry pulled away too soon.

"Yeah, but I'm a grown-up and I get to do whatever I want," Harry answered cheekily before delivering a sharp slap to the Doctor's back side. "And don't you talk back to me."

"Yes, Master." He couldn't help grinning as he said it. Harry often got a bit feisty after he'd been away on a mission and it always led to a fun night. Suddenly, as much as he'd missed his son, he was eagerly looking forward to Ganbri's bed time.

He pulled his shoes off and made his way over to the kitchen in search of a quick snack. As he was poking about the cupboards he noticed Ganbri through the kitchen doorway, waiting patiently as he sat at the foot of the stairs. He wanted to tell him that he could just come in and show him whatever he'd made but he had to resist and follow Harry's rules.

The bananas looked like they wouldn't last much longer anyway so he just grabbed one of those and took it with him to the sitting room. He paused in front of the sofa, grinning evilly at Ganbri as he pretended he was going to sit down and then suddenly stood up straight again. It earned him a delighted giggle. He did it a couple more times, just to make his boy laugh, before he finally sat down.

Without a second's hesitation, Ganbri sprang to his feet and rushed over, clutching his prized project. He climbed up onto the Doctor's lap and chatted happily about how his Auntie Donna spent an afternoon with him making clay figurines. He'd created a few alien monsters of his own, which Donna then baked and helped him paint.

The Doctor listened politely and added sounds of interest at all the right moments while he ate his banana. Ganbri had given each of his monsters their own names, as well as species names, and some of them even had proper back stories. When he began talking about why one species had evolved wings while another evolved gills, he knew he'd been spending more than enough time in the Bio Lab with his Tokrah.

Harry kept teasing him all day. Whenever Ganbri left the room to find a different toy or to watch something on the TV, the Doctor would find himself pulled into a long kiss or pinned against a wall or else vigorously touched in some way. He started receiving images, delivered straight to his mind from Harry, of all the very grown-up things he was either remembering or planning to do. More than once he found himself making excuses to Ganbri for not following him somewhere just so that he could stay standing behind a kitchen counter or sitting with a pillow or a book on his lap. Whenever he saw the knowing smirk on Harry's face, it only made the situation worse.

When he climbed into bed with Ganbri to read him a bedtime story, he swore he felt Harry's hand sliding up his leg. As he turned the pages of the book, he felt ghostly lips kissing the back of his neck. He shivered and Ganbri noticed, the blessed boy pulling the blankets up a little higher to keep his Banni warm. His mind drifted further and further away, towards the coaxing thoughts that promised such exquisite sensations, while he desperately tried to make his mouth cooperate and read the words before him.

Finally, he reached the last page of the book. He was reading the last paragraph and allowing himself to feel a bit excited about what might come next when he felt something that he knew couldn't possibly be there pushing against his back side. He let out a startled gasp which he quickly tried to cover as a coughing fit.

Harry had done that on purpose. He was hard beneath the blanket now and there was no possible way to stand up without revealing himself and forcing an extremely awkward conversation with his son. It was Harry's way of making it impossible for him to leave yet, forcing him to stay put and wait in anticipation. He urged Ganbri to chat with him about Grandfather and the playground and the newest things he had been learning—anything to distract his mind from its current desires.

After a few minutes, he felt it was safe to leave. He kissed Ganbri on the forehead and said goodnight. Then he fled the room quickly before Harry had a chance to sabotage him again. He hurried to his own bedroom, half hoping Harry to be waiting for him and half knowing that he wouldn't be. The other Time Lord was in the shower, of course, with the door locked so that the Doctor knew very clearly that he was not permitted to join him.

Harry wanted to play a game tonight, that much was clear. He had been bossy and made sure the Doctor understood perfectly that he was not in control of his own pleasures tonight. That was fine. Once in a while, Harry got in these moods, when the old Master in him wanted to come out to play. Sometimes the Doctor got in those moods too. Either way, whoever was playing what role, it had yet to disappoint.

He chewed on his thumb restlessly, looking about the room to see if there was anything left out for him. Sometimes, there was something he was supposed to do in order to present himself for Harry and it was up to him to work out what it might be.

All he found was a blindfold sitting on the night stand. He sat down on the edge of the bed and quickly removed his shoes and socks, because there was simply no way of doing that with Harry in the room that looked attractive, and double-checked that his feet weren't haunted with some horrendous smell or another. He removed his belt and suit jacket as well, just because they could be tricky to get off in the heat of the moment. He left the rest on because he knew that Harry enjoyed undressing him, choosing just to undo the buttons on his shirt sleeves. He didn't even think of removing his tie.

He hurried off to the other bathroom in the house to make sure there was nothing unexpected to be found at an inconvenient moment and fix up his hair a bit. He reminded himself to put away any of the clothing he had discarded and tucked his screwdriver safely away. Leaving a mess would surely count as breaking a rule in Harry's game. When he was certain that he hadn't left anything out, he leapt onto the bed and settled down, snatching the blind fold from the table and eagerly putting it on.

He sat quietly for a minute. Waiting. Harry would surely come out of the shower as soon as he realized that the Doctor was ready for him. He was just beginning to think that he must have missed something when he felt the warmth of Harry's mind touching his own again. Harry was projecting images to him, allowing him to see whatever Harry could see.

For some reason, watching through Harry's eyes was somehow more exciting than if he was simply in the room with him. He watched with bated breath as the water cascaded down Harry's naked skin, almost feeling the wet trickles through their connected minds. After all these years, Harry still tried to blur the image of the scar on his chest, but the Doctor was fond of that scar and, after some silent pleading, Harry allowed him to see it properly. He felt a small flurry of butterflies in his stomach when Harry's eyes turned downward and allowed the Doctor to see the hardened length that was waiting for him.

He squirmed a little uncomfortably on the bed, his trousers feeling just a little too tight. He wanted to get up and dig his sonic screwdriver back out, knowing that it could unlock the bathroom door in a split second. But he didn't. He waited patiently like he was supposed to. And he was rewarded.

He watched as Harry brought his own hand forward and took hold of himself, slowly stroking the length of his shaft. The Doctor felt that he was handling it just fine until he heard Harry sigh in his ear and suddenly it wasn't so easy to sit still anymore. His hand hurriedly slid down his front, eagerly searching for something to touch that would give him the pleasure he so desperately craved. He had barely grazed his hand over himself before the images Harry was giving him suddenly went black.

His hand shot away from himself again quickly. "Sorry," he blurted out, holding both his hands up in the air now as though he were surrendering. A torturously long moment passed and Harry didn't return any of his privileges. He was just getting ready to sulk and let out a good whine when he realized what he had forgotten.

"I'm sorry, Master," he said aloud and clearly, making sure that the words were transmitted telepathically as well. The images instantly returned, and the Doctor felt terribly pleased with himself.

Harry was good at this game. He let his eyes drift away occasionally so that the Doctor didn't get to watch for too long at a time. All he wanted whenever that happened was to be able to see again but the yearning, as frustrated as part of him may have been, only made it better. He could hear Harry's hearts beating in his ears now, still calm and controlled but ever so slightly sped up.

Minutes passed and the Doctor loved every second of it, but his body was growing restless again. He wiggled and squirmed on the bed, hoping that he might be able to get some friction against his ever-tightening trousers or perhaps between his shevra and the sheets. What little that did achieve proved to be more teasing than satisfying.

He could hear Harry sighing again, a bit louder now that his hand had gripped himself a little more firmly. God, how could that man stand to hold back for so long? The Doctor could hear desperate little sighs and groans escaping his own mouth, but he did nothing to quiet them. His hands grasped at the sheets just to keep them for reaching downward again, toes curling, legs twisting this way and that to try to create some relief through the movement against fabric.

Whether Harry had meant to share it or not, the Doctor didn't know, but he felt the movement of his muscles. He felt the way Harry's mouth pulled into a smirk and he quickly realized why Harry was amused. All this fuss and impatience and he had only needed to say one simple thing.

"Master," he gasped, finding himself surprisingly short of breath. "Please."

The images suddenly vanished and were replaced with the feeling of hot breath against his ear. "Good," Harry whispered.

He let out an involuntary groan when Harry's teeth nipped at his ear lobe before his mouth travelled down to his neck. The Doctor felt droplets of water falling from Harry's hair onto his skin so it couldn't have been long since he snuck out of the shower and into the bedroom. Still, he wondered how long the images he was being fed had been imagined.

Lips and teeth worked at his flesh, travelling down to his throat where his Master bit down. The teeth sunk in hard enough to make him cry out but held back just enough that the Doctor didn't ask him to stop. He tried putting his hands against Harry's shoulders and gently pushing as a quick test and the teeth sunk in a little deeper.

"Okay, okay!" he blurted in slight panic, releasing Harry's shoulders quickly.

The teeth relaxed their grasp a little and the Doctor could feel Harry's lips moving against his skin, pulling back into a wicked grin. He felt the deep chuckle vibrate against his throat more than he heard it and it made him shiver.

With his teeth still firmly in place, Harry's hands began to slither over the Doctor's body—brushing against the swell his trousers teasingly, sliding up his abdomen, caressing his chest, and finally curving around his shoulders, following along his arms. Fingers curled around his wrists, grasping them tightly, guiding his hands up to be pinned above his head. With those teeth still holding him hostage, the Doctor did little to resist.

Soon, his Master had both his wrists held beneath one of his hands and the other quickly went to work. Harry's fingers popped open the buttons on his shirt expertly and, when the Doctor arched his back slightly to encourage the material to fall away from his chest, Harry rewarded him by relaxing his teeth a little more. As he expected, Harry left his tie just where it was, using his fingers to wiggle the collar out from underneath it instead.

Harry paused a moment and the Doctor knew immediately that it was just to test his obedience. He didn't move. He didn't squirm. He didn't do anything but let a small, desperate moan escape him. And he was rewarded.

Harry's teeth released his throat and he sighed a little in relief. He felt the other Time Lord shifting his weight as his leg reached over, then some of the weight of Harry's body as he straddled the Doctor's abdomen. For just a brief moment, Harry let him see through his eyes again. Instead of the blackness behind the blindfold, he was looking down at himself—squirming a little, wrists pinned, mouth open and panting, an angry set of red marks of his throat. Harry's eyes glanced downward and the Doctor saw the length of him laid out on his body, resting on the Doctor's chest and pumped so full of eager blood that he had no idea how Harry could stand to just sit there and  _look_.

The image faded just as he saw Harry's free hand reaching for his tie. "I like the way you leave your mouth open for me," Harry said quietly, pausing for a moment to kiss him. He was careful not to let their tongues meet too much, denying the Doctor the taste of his narin and the access to his mind. "It must mean you want me to put something in there."

Really, he wanted Harry to put it somewhere  _else_  but he knew that, if he played the game properly, he would be rewarded. "Yes," he panted.

He could feel the smirk on Harry's lips when he planted another kiss on his mouth before he began to shift. Harry's hand gripped his tie firmly and pulled just enough to tighten it a little. The Doctor responded to the prompt quickly, lifting his head up from the pillow and turning his face at a more downward angle. When Harry's hips lifted off of him and he felt something warm and solid touch his lips he readily opened his mouth.

Harry let him watch that for a while too. He was able to look down and see himself as Harry held his tie like a rein, riding him. Harry released his wrists so that he could sit up straight on the Doctor's chest, thrusting carefully into the Doctor's mouth and now using his free hand to grab a fist full of his hair.

Harry didn't utter a word, but the Doctor knew his Master well. He brought his hands down and placed one on either side of Harry's hips instead, gently encouraging them with their rhythmic motion, his tongue eagerly trying all the tricks he knew. He was hoping that if he showed enough enthusiasm for this part, he would be rewarded.

He heard a quiet groan escape his husband and the hand on Harry's hip felt an uncontrolled twitch. As expected, Harry quickly pulled out of his mouth in order to maintain his control.

"Oh, good," Harry said a little breathlessly, his hand releasing the Doctor's hair so that he could slide his thumb along his lips. "Oh, you are good, Doctor."

He felt Harry's hips twisting next and knew that he was turning to look at the Doctor's lower half. The excitement in him suddenly shot up when Harry's hand landed lightly on his stomach and began to slide downwards. He paused with the very tips of his fingers slipping beneath his trousers.

"Please," The Doctor moaned impatiently, trying to raise his hips and make some sort of contact.

Harry suddenly tugged on his tie and it tightened around his throat a little more.

The Doctor immediately forced himself to relax his hips against the mattress again. "Please, Master," he corrected himself.

"Good," Harry said, though his voice had a hint of a growl to it now.

Harry's fingers worked quickly to get the button and zipper undone on his trousers while the Doctor mentally congratulated himself for removing his belt ahead of time. He moaned appreciatively when Harry's fingers finally closed around him, though he still had to fight the urge to thrust into the new contact.

"Is that what you wanted?"

"Oh, yes," the Doctor answered quickly, squirming as Harry's grip around him tightened and made it feel that much better.

"What do you say to your Master when he gives you something you want?"

"Th-thank you."

"Good. Now take those off."

He felt a gentle pull at his tie and quickly parted his lips again. Harry made a quiet hum of approval as the Doctor enthusiastically took him in his mouth, working his lips and his tongue as he raised his hips off the mattress and used his hands to push his trousers down as quickly as he could. It didn't take long before he was finally kicking away the offending material and brought his hands to Harry's hips again, gripping them tightly as they moved.

A minute later, Harry suddenly pulled out with a loud gasp. He was slipping in his control again and the Doctor quivered with excitement, knowing that Harry would not be able to hold back for much longer. Harry bent down and kissed him feverishly, letting his tongue explore freely this time and giving the Doctor a taste of his narin. He felt Harry's knees moving and adjusting, sliding him down the Doctor's body and settling in just the right place. All he had to do now was lower himself . . .

He felt Harry's hips moving beneath his hands, slowly lowering him, and the Doctor gently pushed to guide him. Harry suddenly stopped, resisting the guidance, but the Doctor had grown impatient. Though he knew he would be punished, he pushed hard against Harry's hips and raised his own. For one torturously brief second, he felt his aching tip just slide between Harry's cheeks when the tie suddenly snapped tight around his neck and Harry slapped his hand sharply.

"What do you think you're doing?" his Master hissed.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor answered desperately.

"You would defy me?"

"No," he said quickly, releasing Harry's hips and laying his hands on the mattress near his head in a fast act of submission. "I obey." He had been so close.  _So_  close.

His Master did not even lean over him to growl his displeasure. He raised his leg again and dismounted, leaving the Doctor's body cold and cruelly abandoned. The only physical connection between them now was the way Harry gripped the tie so firmly, keeping it tight around the Doctor's throat.

"I am disappointed, Doctor," his Master said quietly. "You were doing so well."

He couldn't even think of what to say, so he just squirmed uncomfortably and made a sound so pathetic that it would embarrass him to even think about it at any other time.

"I  _was_  going to take you inside me, but clearly you cannot be trusted with such privileges."

"I'll be good," the Doctor promised, skin crying out to be touched anywhere. "Please, Master, I'm sorry. I'll behave."

"That you will," his Master promised in return. "Apparently, I need to remind you of your place."

"Yes."

He felt the tie being pulled at, silently ordering him to sit up. "Take off your shirt."

He shrugged the material from his shoulders and tossed it away. Then, with a quick tug and a swift movement, the tie was pulled roughly from his neck. Harry put his hand on the Doctor's throat instead, holding it firmly as he pushed him back to lie down again. "Hold out your hands."

He thrust them out quickly and held still as Harry used the tie to bind his wrists together. He tied them tightly and without his usual gentleness before shoving the bound wrists against the mattress above his head again.

"Turn over."

It was a little tricky to do with his hands above his head, but he didn't dare lower them in order to use his elbows. Instead, he shifted and wriggled, rather awkwardly, until he had managed to turn properly onto his stomach. He didn't need to be told to put his weight on his knees so that his back end was raised high and made easily accessible.

He had expected it but, being unable to see it coming, he still let out a startled cry when a hand delivered a sharp slap to his newly presented side.

"What do you have to say to your Master?"

"I'm sorry!" the Doctor cried in return.

Another slap. "What was that?"

"I'm sorry, Master," he corrected.

"Spread your legs."

He obeyed quickly, shifting and moving his knees further apart from each other. He felt the mattress dipping and rising as his Master moved around him, positioning himself directly behind him. A hand landed lightly on his back and he carefully followed its guidance, lowering himself a few inches so that he was in just the right position. Then the hand slid upward to find his shevra, touching it gently for just a moment before a fingernail dug sharply into the tender flesh. The Doctor let out a cry that let his Master know it was too much and, though the fingernail stayed where it was, the pressure behind it was eased to a more bearable level. Harry's other hand reached between his legs and stroked him to make up for the unwanted pain.

"I think you learn well," his Master whispered behind him. "With the correct amount of discipline."

"Yes."

The hand that stroked him was taken away and grasped his hip instead, but the Doctor knew what was coming next and so he didn't complain. The fingernail in his shevra eased away and instead there was just a fingertip, softly massaging away whatever mark it had left.

"Beg," his Master ordered.

"Please," he gasped as Harry smacked him again. "Please." Another smack. "Please." He knew Harry would keep delivering the sharp slaps until he begged correctly and so he didn't beg correctly until the stinging in his skin reached the limit of what he was comfortable with.

"Please, Master."

"Oh," Harry groaned quietly, sliding a hand around to the Doctor's front to touch him again. "I like it when you use my name." He felt Harry's tip brushing against his back side and his skin quivered to life with anticipation.

It was just as it began to push against him that there was a quiet knock at the door.

"Banni?"

"God damn it," the Doctor groaned.

"Ganbri, don't open the door!" Harry barked loudly, making no attempt to move or get them covered up.

"Okay," the tiny voice answered.

"Remember that talk we had?"

". . . Yeah."

"Remember what I told you?"

"Yeah."

"So where should you be?"

". . . In bed."

"That's right. Get going then."

"Okay, Tokrah."

Harry waited just long enough to hear the soft scuffle of feet before whispering a bit frantically, "Bite the pillow."

"What?" the Doctor blurted in response.

" _Bite the pillow_."

"But—"

"Do you want me to fuck you or not?"

He bit the pillow.

Harry thrust inside him hard and the pillow helped to muffle the pleasured cry that escaped the Doctor's mouth. He wasn't sure whether Harry had planned to take him as quickly as this before or if he had decided to hurry things along because Ganbri was awake, but there was no more teasing to be done or lessons to be taught. His hands held a vice grip on the Doctor's hips and he thrust into him like it was the last moments of his life.

He released any noises into the pillow and his wrists pulled and strained against their bonds as he lost himself to the toxic feeling. Harry was panting hard behind him, groaning in a way that the Doctor knew was not controlled. He decided to struggle a bit, giving Harry an excuse to reach over and grab his hair, growling at him to hold still. He was careful to make sure any sounds that he made still sounded pleasurable and he put a bit more effort into trying to get away, but Harry was strong and held him in place easily. When the Doctor eventually pushed back against him, Harry rewarded him for playing the game well by thrusting into him harder.

Harry's mind suddenly reached out to him like a hand desperately searching for another in the throes of passion and the Doctor quickly went out to meet him. There was nothing solid to be found there—just the echoing sounds of gasps and moans and the feeling of being inside the tight heat that Harry was experiencing. There were a few flashes of imagery. Some of it was what was happening now and the Doctor saw himself bound and bent over, while some of it was from previous nights, and other images were only imagined or hoped for.

He was so caught up in Harry's mind that he didn't even know he was about to come until his thoughts suddenly went blank and his muscles seized up. He felt Harry's intensified pleasure as the Doctor's muscles spasmed and gripped around him and it rippled through him in powerful waves.

Harry made an odd sound as he tried to hold back his moaning and the Doctor felt him explode inside him. He throbbed and pulsed and the pleasure they were each feeling kept echoing back and forth between them even once it was done. They both were trapped, frozen, for a moment as their bodies continued to lock and relax through the reverberating sensations.

When the feeling had passed, Harry slumped against him for a moment, one hand clumsily stroking the Doctor's thigh. They both began to chuckle as they caught their breath and Harry playfully nipped the delicate skin surrounding the Doctor's shevra.

"So, did you miss me?"

The Doctor smirked a bit. " _Well_  . . ."

Harry gave him a half-hearted slap on his rear.

"Yes, I missed you!" he laughed. "Stop hitting me!"

"You like it," Harry answered, lifting his weight off the Doctor's body and sitting upright again. "And I like the way it leaves your skin all pink, like you're blushing. It's kinda cute."

"I'm not cute."

"No," Harry agreed quickly. "You are ruggedly handsome and devilishly charming."

"And foxy," he added.

"Foxy?"

"Someone called me foxy once. I'd say I have to agree."

"Alright.  _You_  are handsome, charming, and foxy," Harry said slowly, one of his hands reaching down to stroke the heated skin on his back side. "But your little red ass is cute."

He felt Harry reach behind him somewhere, presumably to retrieve a towel that he had set aside, and then pull himself out of the Doctor's body. The Doctor quickly laid on his side—a slightly more dignified position than on his knees with his rear in the air—and struggled with his bound hands to push the blindfold up so that he could see.

"Help me with this," he said, holding his wrists out again. "Do you think he's back in bed?"

"He'd better be," Harry answered as he worked away the knots in the tie. "I told him, very clearly, that he's not to get out of bed anymore unless it's wet or he's sick." The tie came away and the Doctor's hands were free. Harry had already laid a towel on the bed and he rolled onto his back so that he was over top of it, mopping up what he could and staying there for when the rest worked itself out of his body.

The Doctor chuckled and shook his head. "You know how he is. Ganbri doesn't take a rule seriously unless he knows all the 'why's and 'what for's ."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Harry answered, smiling at him a little before nudging his shoulder. "Turn over."

"What for?"

"To make sure I didn't cut you or anything," Harry muttered in return, nudging his shoulder again to make him turn onto his stomach. "You made such a fuss."

"Well, it hurt," the Doctor answered firmly.

He felt Harry's fingers gliding over his shevra, touching it delicately as he inspected it. "Sorry, Lahrre," he said quietly after a moment, then pressed his lips against it.

The Doctor hummed happily, relaxing and letting his eyes close as Harry delivered more soft kisses about his back, gentle fingers caressing his skin. For a man that could be so hard and rough, Harry could be surprisingly tender whenever they were alone like this—all affection and love.

He was almost ready to fall asleep, with Harry's fingertip sliding slowly along his spine, when he realized what Harry hadn't said. "What did you tell him?"

"Hmm?" Harry hummed lazily, bringing his kisses up to the back of the Doctor's neck.

"Ganbri."

There was a split-second's hesitation in between the kisses and then Harry continued, lips travelling back down his shoulder blades. "All the usual stuff," he answered calmly, fingers teasing around the Doctor's shevra once more. "He's young and growing and needs to sleep. Getting out of bed disturbs that sleep. You know, the same stuff you tell him."

"He always has arguments for the stuff I tell him," the Doctor answered suspiciously.

"Well . . . I also told him that sometimes grown-ups need alone time."

He said it quickly and quietly, as if he hoped somehow the Doctor would just nod happily and not pay attention to the actual words.

"And when he asked you what we need alone time for?"

Harry sighed and lifted himself up from the mattress, choosing instead to sit on the backs of the Doctor's thighs. "To do grown-up things," he answered, leaning forward over the Doctor's body so he could continue exploring his back with lips and fingers.

"And what are 'grown-up things'?"

"What, did you write the script?" Harry chuckled quietly, in that low, throaty sort of way that he knew the Doctor liked. Suddenly he was aware that Harry wasn't just absent-mindedly touching him anymore but kneading his fingertips into his knotted muscles.

"Don't try and distract me!" the Doctor barked, reaching a hand back to smack him on the thigh. "You told him it was so we could have sex, didn't you?"

"He asked," Harry answered simply, ignoring the Doctor's previous protest and continuing to massage him.

"And I bet you told him what exactly that means."

"He  _asked_."

"Oh, my god. Harry, he's  _four_!"

"He's almost five."

"You're right, that's much better."

Harry sighed again and leaned down low, so that his mouth was just inches from the Doctor's ear. "Look, he already knows. Now, do you want to bitch about something you can't change, or do you want me to rub your back?"

"We can do both, thank you," he answered sharply.

Harry shook his head but carried on massaging him anyway. "Don't worry. I told him all the responsible stuff about being old enough and being in love and all that."

"I can't believe you'd tell him  _any_  of it. How am I supposed to look him in the face tomorrow morning knowing that  _he_  knows what we were doing in here? God, he's probably  _imagined_  it—trying to work out the mechanics and angles in that little scientific brain of his. What if he starts asking  _me_  about it?"

"Just answer him," Harry answered with a shrug. "You're his father."

"I don't even like talking to adults about that sort of thing!"

"Said the doctor."

The Doctor began to twist around so he could knock Harry off of him but the other man quickly leaned forward and pinned his shoulders down. He kicked and wrestled and muttered threats at him while Harry simply laughed and fought to keep him down. He was just started to make some progress, getting his elbows up underneath him and lifting, when there was another knock at the door.

Harry slid off of the Doctor with an annoyed huff and flopped onto his back on the mattress beside him. "Ganbri, what did I say to you earlier?" he called out, a little scowl appearing on his face.

"I tried to go back to bed!" Ganbri's little voice protested through the door. The Doctor now understood why he was wise enough not to open the door and felt his face turning a little red.

"Standing outside my door is not trying," Harry answered firmly.

"But, Tokrah, there's no room for me to lie down. I tried to find a spot, but there isn't one."

Harry's frown deepened a little. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the throw up is taking up all the room!"

" _What_?" Harry sat upright, his head tipping back and an irritated sigh escaping him as he rubbed his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

"I'm  _not_  sick," Ganbri answered stubbornly. "I just threw up."

"Ugh . . ." Harry dropped back down again and gave the Doctor a lazy nudge. "You go do it."

"No way. I do blood and bones; you can do stomach contents."

"Do as your Master says," Harry replied with another nudge.

"You're not Master anymore. I got what I wanted so now you're Harry again," he answered cheekily.

Harry rolled onto his stomach and looked at the Doctor with a stern look that was betrayed by the amusement in his eyes. "Well, Master or not, I just took care of your son for four days with no help while you were gone," he gave him one last little slap on his back end, light enough that it didn't make any sound that Ganbri might hear. "You do it."

The Doctor grinned at him and lifted himself from the bed. "Smack me again and I'll smack you back," he promised, grabbing a robe to throw on and heading for the door. Ganbri looked up at him with sleepy eyes and a downturned mouth. He had already changed himself into clean pyjamas—no doubt his other ones were already floating in the bathtub with his own concoction of soaps and shampoos.

"I did try to stay in bed, Banni," his son promised solemnly.

"I know. But throwing up, whether you feel sick or not, still counts as being sick," he answered in a gentle voice. "If it happens again, you come tell us."

"Okay."

He reached out his hand and Ganbri readily took it. "Alright, little man," he said, putting on his best sympathetic smile. "Let's just go get it cleaned up."


	7. 2016 - Motherless

** 2016 **

Ganbri was not stupid. In fact, he was rather smart. He knew that was true because everyone said so. He had been nervous about beginning at school because he was afraid he might be stupid. Especially after Tokrah made such a fuss about wanting to keep him at home, Ganbri wondered if maybe Tokrah secretly thought he was stupid. Everyone knows that your family is  _supposed_  to tell you nice things about yourself even if they really think differently. And so he was certain that he would meet his new teacher and that she would quickly tell him he was stupid.

But he was not. He'd been going to school for a whole month now, though it felt like much longer, and everyone continued to assure him that he was clever. He worried that part of that may have only been because he could already read when most in his group couldn't. Any other children who could read were deemed 'smart' too. He worried sometimes that they wouldn't think he was smart anymore once everyone else learned to read too. He supposed he would just have to learn something new before that happened.

Still, there were times when he would realize something new—something that had been right in front of him all along—and suddenly he worried that he might not be as smart as he thought he was. It was today, with the October sun still glaring hotly overhead and a blanket of golden leaves on the lawn, that he worried he might be stupid once more.

The night before last there had been a terrible storm that had damaged the shed in the backyard as well as Tokrah's greenhouse. Both of his fathers were out there now, trying to get everything fixed up again, while Ganbri watched them through the window.

Auntie Donna had come over to keep him company while his parents worked, and baby Annie kept running up and pulling at his arms to get him to come play. Really, Annie was only a year younger than him, but everyone called her the baby, so he called her that too. It made him feel a bit more like one of the grown-ups. She wanted to play Zookeeper and hear stories about going to school because she would be starting next year, but he didn't want to play with her today. He was too busy watching.

He was shooing Annie away and watching his parents and worrying that he might be stupid all because it was only just now that he realized he didn't have a mother.

He was always aware that he had two fathers but any other kid that he met who had two fathers still had a mother  _somewhere_. Some kids even had two mothers  _and_  two fathers because their parents had decided they wanted to be in love with someone else. There was a girl at school who didn't have a mother but it was because she had died, not because she simply never  _had_  one.

Sometimes the kids at school would argue about how babies were born and the only thing they could ever agree on was that a baby came out of its mother's tummy. Ganbri didn't come out of any lady's tummy. He didn't come out of a tummy at all. Banni told him that he had grown on Tokrah's chest. He'd even seen it in an old photo from Banni and Tokrah's wedding—just a funny bump under Tokrah's shirt. How was he supposed to explain  _that_  to human children when they asked him where his mum was?

He thought once to say that Auntie Donna was his mum, just because she acted like it so much sometimes, but everyone would know that wasn't true. Donna told everyone that she was Banni's sister and she had her own kid now anyway. It would be strange for a lady to give her baby to her brother and then just make another one.

All the boys and girls at school had mothers, whether they knew them or saw them or whether they were still alive, they still  _had_  one. Everyone except Ganbri. That was strange, wasn't it? Wasn't that a bad thing if he was supposed to be pretending to be human?

The kids at school liked to ask about his dads often, mostly because they didn't know what it was like. Becky had suggested that maybe one of his dads was more like a mum than the other one and that one would be his mother. But he couldn't begin to imagine which one.

He sat at the window, watching them so carefully, trying to decide and finding it annoyingly difficult. He tried to think of what made Auntie Donna seem like a mother—she cooked and cleaned and fussed over how people looked and she was very afraid of bugs and things. Uncle Shaun went to work most days, fixed anything that broke, lifted heavy things, and reached for things that were too high for Donna to reach.

Tokrah did most of the cleaning but it was Banni who was always trying to fix Ganbri's hair or clothes. They both were good at fixing things and neither of them were afraid of bugs. Tokrah was strong and could lift heavy things, but Banni was tall and got down things that were too high to reach. Tokrah did a lot of the cooking but Banni cooked too. Tokrah went to work almost every day while Banni was home more often than not but, when he did work, he worked for a  _long_  time. Sometimes Ganbri had to go stay at Donna and Shaun's or at Grandfather's whenever Tokrah was at work for a whole week because Banni was away.

Right now, they were both outside, covered in dirt with bits of sticks or leaves in their hair. Tokrah was passing big pieces of wood up to Banni, who was repairing the big hole in the shed roof. They had scratches on their arms from the work, some of which were even bleeding a little, but they didn't seem to notice. If Auntie Donna had cut her arm, everybody would know about it.

Tommy had even gone as far as to suggest that maybe they weren't like 'real' married people because they were both boys. He said that it was always the girls who got all mushy and lovey-dovey and that's why married people kiss and stuff—because the girl makes them. But boys aren't like that so two boys wouldn't do the kissing stuff and so they wouldn't count as married. And if they didn't count as married, then they didn't count as Ganbri's parents.

But Banni and Tokrah kissed each other all the time. Tokrah always gave Banni a kiss before he left for work and another when he came home. They would have long kisses if Banni was going away to work for a few days. Sometimes they even kissed for no reason, and they held hands too. More than that, Ganbri was clever enough to notice things that other kids didn't; like that there are certain ways that people look at someone they love, certain ways that they move or stand or speak. He had a feeling that Tom just didn't know what he was talking about. He thought Tom was just stupid and rude.

The worst was when they would ask which one was his  _real_  dad because, with humans, only one lady and one man at a time can make a baby. Ganbri never knew what to say then and would just say he didn't know. He felt like if he said that Banni was his real dad that it would hurt Tokrah's feelings, but if he said that it was Tokrah, Banni's feeling would be hurt. He wasn't allowed to tell people at school that they weren't human. If he could, he would just tell them all that two boys could have a baby together if they were Time Lords.

Since he had started going to school, he was beginning to think that it would just be a lot easier if he had been human, with a  _real_  mother and a  _real_  father, just like everyone else. He had never really thought about it much before then.

Auntie Donna flopped down on the couch next to him, on her knees so that she could look over the back and out the window just like he was. "What is it then?" she asked, gently bumping him with her shoulder.

It would make Banni sad to ask these questions, he knew, and it would make Tokrah angry at the other kids. Annie was playing with her toys on the other side of the room, not paying attention. He quickly decided that he could talk to Donna about it and it wouldn't get repeated.

"I don't have a mother," he answered plainly.

"So?" Donna answered with matched simplicity.

"Well, there's lots of kids at school . . ." He wasn't quite sure how to word it. What was it he even wanted to ask?

"What?" Donna said with a new tone of concern to her voice. "Are they picking on you?"

" _No_ ," he answered firmly. "They just ask a lot of questions."

"About your dads?"

"Yeah."

He watched through the window as Banni's grip slipped on the wooden plank he was holding. He scrambled to catch it but failed. Tokrah had acted quickly but the plank still managed to catch him in the shoulder as it fell. Donna gasped loudly when she saw it hit and Banni nearly fell off the ladder as he hurried to get down. But Tokrah just did a funny sort of jog around in a circle, holding a hand to his shoulder with a face that looked like he was groaning a bit.

Ganbri tried to work out what he wanted to ask as they watched. Banni immediately grabbed at Tokrah's head to make sure it hadn't been damaged, his face very serious while Tokrah kept shaking his head and lightly trying to move Banni's hands away. He couldn't hear them from inside, but he was sure that Tokrah was insisting he was fine and probably making some joke about being too old to move quick enough. He could feel his father's pain from inside like he felt a breeze in the air—it had hurt him, but it was nothing he couldn't walk off or work through.

Within a few seconds Tokrah had managed to make Banni laugh and they both looked a lot more relaxed as Banni continued a quick check for injury. He saw Tokrah gesturing at his right shoulder and he quickly took his shirt off to let Banni look. There was a scrape down the shoulder and half way down his back. It was bleeding a little, but it looked like nothing compared to the vicious scars that slashed across the back of his entire body. Ganbri was certain that none of the kids at school had mothers with scars like that.

He knew, as Banni pecked a couple of quick kisses on Tokrah's face, that they would be coming inside soon. Banni would insist on dressing the wound while Tokrah would insist on finishing the work first. He had maybe two minutes before Banni won and they returned to the house. If he wanted to ask, he had to ask now.

" _Why_  don't I have a mother?"

Donna didn't even pause to think about it. "Because you have them."

He saw Tokrah turn back around as Banni continued to fuss over him. He could see the scar on his chest now—a scar from the day Ganbri was born. Tokrah didn't seem to like that scar much as he always seemed to try to cover it up. Maybe Tokrah wished that some mother had given birth to Ganbri, because then he wouldn't have that scar.

Donna sighed, knowing that she hadn't given him a satisfying answer. "Because you're a Time Lord."

"Why do I have to be a Time Lord?"

Donna turned to look at him with a sad smile. "Why do you have brown eyes?"

He didn't know. He'd never thought about that either. "Because Banni and Tokrah have brown eyes?"

"And why do you have black hair?"

Neither of his parents had black hair. "I don't know."

"Because you were born that way. No more reason than that."

He slumped down on the couch a bit so that just his eyes were peeking over and through the window. Tokrah had picked up an old rag and tried to wipe away the bit of blood on his back but more seeped out a few seconds later. Banni was pointed at it animatedly, his mouth moving very quickly, while Tokrah was tipping his head back with his eyes closed and mouth open in a sigh. Any moment now.

"Don't you think it would have been better if I had a mum?"

"Why would that be better?"

"We're supposed to be human," Ganbri answered with a little shrug. "Everyone says that I must have a real mum somewhere. They ask me who my real dad is too."

Donna's hand was on his shoulder now and she spoke quietly and warmly. "They are _both_  your real dad."

"I  _know_ ," Ganbri said with a bit of a whine, getting annoyed now that she didn't understand him. "But it would be easier if I could say one of them was my proper dad."

Auntie Donna turned off her knees so that she could sit on the couch facing him, with her arms crossed and eyebrow raised. "Fine. Pick one."

He hadn't expected that. "What?"

"Pick one," Donna repeated, gesturing with her head towards the window. "You have a look and pick one to be your real dad and the other to not be."

He looked, watching the way Banni took hold of Tokrah's hands and was trying to pull him towards the house while Tokrah very reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled. He thought of how terribly it would hurt their feelings if they found out he made such a choice, then he realized that it was hurting his own feelings to try.

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

They were coming towards the house now. Tokrah's eyes turned towards the window and saw them. He smiled. Ganbri waved his hand in return.

"I don't want one of them to  _not_  be my dad."

"But what about being human?" Donna pushed gently. "What about having a mother somewhere? You can only have one real dad if you're human."

He thought a little harder about it, but he still didn't like it. It didn't make sense that he would have to say one of his fathers wasn't a proper one just so that he could say he had  _any_  proper parents.

"That's stupid," he said quietly.

"It is," Donna agreed. "I'm not your Banni's real sister or your real aunt. And Grandad isn't really either of your dads' grandfather. Jack isn't actually your uncle. Does that mean we're not a real family?"

"No," he answered quickly.

"Then what makes us a real family?"

He looked at Donna's face and couldn't imagine a life without her. Donna had always been there to listen to his worries and teach him to make things and to give him the best hugs. Grandad would always ask him about his projects and teach him new games and put on funny hats and costumes on the holidays and sing songs. Jack would wrestle him and let Ganbri win but he treated him like a grown-up too, and was always teaching him the safest things to do in a bad situation.

"We're a family because we love each other."

Donna smiled at him as the door to the yard opened. "That's right," she said, leaning forward to kiss him on the forehead. "Don't you ever forget it. Don't let the kids at your school forget it either."

She stood up from the couch and walked around the corner towards the kitchen, where Banni and Tokrah were noisily kicking their work boots off. Annie picked up one of her dolls and clutched it to her chest as she followed her mother, rushing to the kitchen to see what was happening.

"What did you do this time?" she asked loudly.

"He's trying to kill me," Tokrah answered calmly.

"I'm not! I  _am not_ ," Banni protested quickly and loudly. "I just slipped, that was all. It's not like I bashed your head in or—"

"Only because I moved!"

"Oh, Doctor, that is  _so_  much blood. Poor Harry won't be able to do a thing for a week with an injury like that." Annie backed up her mother's comment by making a frightened squeal that Ganbri knew was fake.

"It's not that bad," Banni answered immediately, though there was some doubt to his voice now.

"You know, it does hurt a lot," Tokrah said next with a forced groan. "I'm actually starting to feel dizzy. Oh, I'm so cold."

There was the sound of a light slap on flesh. "That's not funny," Banni's voice answered sternly. "Stop it, both of you."

Ganbri sat on the couch listening as Auntie Donna and Tokrah laughed, poking fun at Banni as he fretted and apologized. Eventually he joined them, helping himself to a glass of milk and asking Banni if he could have some biscuits to share with the baby. He sat at the table next to Donna, while Tokrah leaned over it a little so that Banni could clean and dress his wound.

They made jokes and retold old stories of other silly accidents and injuries. Annie squealed at all the right moments. Tokrah nicked a couple of Ganbri's biscuits when he wasn't looking and then fervently denied it even as his mouth was still full of them.

He saw that dreadful scar on Tokrah's exposed chest but, as they were now, Tokrah seemed to have forgotten all about it. He was too busy talking to the others in the room and making a game of trying to sneak away more of Ganbri's biscuits to even remember that the scar was sitting there for everyone to see.

Ganbri leaned against Donna and slipped his arm around her waist. She put her arm around him in return, giving him an extra little squeeze, and let her chin rest on the top of his head. Annie noticed that a hug was happening without her and quickly climbed onto Auntie Donna's lap to join in. He felt a warmth radiating from her mind to his own that made him feel comfortable and happy.

He felt it from everyone.


	8. 2017 - Haunted House

** 2017 **

Ganbri was swinging his feet back and forth as he sat on the bench, looking up at his Banni with perfectly innocent eyes. The Doctor saw no traces of guilt, nor did he feel any. Either his son had earned his father's ability to lie, or there had been some sort of misunderstanding.

"What did you  _do_?" he mouthed silently.

Ganbri simply shrugged his shoulders and continued swinging his feet

He spent the next minute looking for evidence. No bruises or scrapes or dirt on his clothes, so he doubted that he had been in a fight. He'd been paying close attention to his schoolwork, so he doubted that it could have been his grades.

"Did you glow?" he mouthed next

Ganbri's eyebrows pushed together and his head tilted slightly to the side. "What?"

"Did you  _glow_?" the Doctor repeated, moving his mouth more carefully this time.

Ganbri simply shook his head and carried on swinging his feet.

The Doctor frowned. He must have done  _something_.

"Mister Noble?"

He put on his best charming smile and shook the teacher's hand. "Doctor, actually."

"Yes, of course," she smiled kindly. "Dr. Noble, I'm Emily Reeds. Can I call you John?"

He hesitated for just a second. Though having a proper name was necessary for their life on Earth, he never liked it very much. He wanted to tell her that calling him the Doctor was fine, but the look Ganbri shot him begged him not to.

"Absolutely."

"Wonderful. Just in here, if you would."

She opened the door to her office and he gave Ganbri a quick nod before going in. Mrs. Reeds looked rather young and still bothered to curl her hair and do her makeup, but the state of her office suggested she'd been a teacher a long time.

The walls were papered with dozens of finger paintings and crayon drawings. Small, lumpy figurines of coloured clay that had clearly been crafted by the hands of small children stood guard over her stacks of books and filing cabinets. There was a dream catcher in the window that looked as though it had been made by a child as well.

Emily sat behind her desk and tucked her bouncing brown curls behind her ears. "Please, have a seat."

"What's he been doing then?" the Doctor asked in a light tone as he sat down. "Trying to convince the staff he's a substitute teacher?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Emily answered, smiling. "Ganbri is very well behaved and a very good student, really. It's just, um, I would like to talk about some of your son's behaviour."

Uh-oh.

"Of course. What sort of behaviour?"

"Well, he seems to have a very active imagination . . ."

Oh, no, no, no. What did he say? Was he telling stories about the TARDIS? Time travel? Aliens? Was he using telepathy to try to impress people?

Mrs. Reeds continued slowly, choosing her words with obvious care. "With a child as creative as Ganbri is, it can sometimes be difficult to tell which of his stories are make-believe and which aren't. I was hoping to clear some of it up so that I can know how best to communicate with him."

"Of course," he tried his best to smile without looking nervous. "What sort of things has he been saying?"

"Well, the first thing is that he seems to have his own language," she said in a voice that sounded almost apologetic. "It's very intricate—the writing especially. He insists that it is a real language and has been teaching some of the other children—"

"Gallifreyan?" the Doctor interrupted.

Emily looked at him in surprise. "Yes," she said, looking embarrassed all of a sudden. "Sorry, I just thought—"

"It's, um . . . a rather unknown language," the Doctor said cautiously. "You only ever hear it spoken in this tiny little village in South Africa. I don't there's more than a hundred people who speak it."

She looked even more surprised now. "But a six-year-old in Chiswick does?"

"Yes, actually," he cleared his throat and shifted a little in his seat. "You see, my husband and I spent a lot of time in South Africa doing peace missions and clean water projects and all that. Anyway, we stayed with one village long enough to learn their dialect and Harry thought it might be a good idea to teach Ganbri. It's hard to come by translators who speak proper Gallifreyan, you know."

She stared at him a moment, blinking, as though she wasn't quite sure what to say. "I just . . . sorry, I just didn't know that, actually."

"No, it's fine. Most people don't. The name Ganbri is actually Gallifreyan for 'star', so there you go."

"Yes, he told me that too. How very interesting."

She did sound like she believed him now and so he was able to relax a bit. They covered a few other topics—primarily, things like Ganbri telling the other children stories about 'monsters' (which the Doctor knew, from their descriptions, to be actual alien species) and claiming that his teacher had their facts wrong in just about every subject.

Most of it was easily explained away, while some others he had to promise to have a discussion with his son. Overall, nothing disastrous had been reported. The Doctor was mostly just glad to learn that his son hadn't done something like expel time energy or flaunt his telepathic abilities.

It seemed as though they were winding down and the Doctor was preparing to leave, when Emily raised one more issue.

"About a week ago, I gave the children their regular writing assignments," she said slowly, looking rather uncomfortable all of a sudden. "I asked them to tell me about someone in their life that they think is interesting."

Oh,  _no_.

"Oh, yeah. Who did he write about then?" he asked as casually as he could manage.

Uncle Jack, the immortal man? Boris, the living shadow? Auntie Donna, the woman who saved the universe? He tried to think of every story they'd ever told Ganbri and tried to work out who he would deem the most interesting.

"He wrote about a ghost that lives in his house."

"What?"

"I know," Emily answered, shaking her head as she reached into her desk to pull out the assignment. "I feel silly even bringing it up. Normally, I would just assume he was telling stories like all boys his age do. The only thing was . . . some of the things he says about his other father raised some concerns."

"He wrote about Harry?"

If Mrs. Reeds hadn't offered the paper to him, the Doctor might have ripped it from her hands. His eyes scanned over the large and uneven writing, drinking in the words.

_ There is a ghost that lives in my house and he is my friend. His name is Berran and he is a nice boy. _

"He wrote this?" the Doctor asked in shock, unable to tear his eyes away from the name. "Did you ask him about it? Did he say where he got the story from?"

"He says it's not a story," Emily answered quietly. "He says it's real."

_ Berran is only three but he has been three for a long time so he's not really three. He only looks like he's three because he's a ghost and dead people don't grow older. _

How the hell did Ganbri know about Berran? The Doctor flipped over to the next page and saw a crayon drawing of what he assumed was meant to be Ganbri playing with him. He flipped to the page after that and continued reading.

_ I like Berran very much. My Tokrah also likes him. He tells us to play nicely because we are brothers so I think Berran must have been Banni and Tokrah's boy before he died and became a ghost and they had me. I don't know how to be a brother for a ghost but I promised I would be a good one. _

"Do you see where my concerns are?" Mrs. Reeds asked him with a sympathetic sounding voice. "I'm just not sure how much of it is Ganbri's imagination or—"

"Mrs. Reeds, you met my husband at the start of term, did you not?" the Doctor asked, sounding a bit more stern than perhaps he had meant to.

"Yes, I did."

"I believe he explained to you then that he has some anxiety problems and that Ganbri might ask questions or otherwise speak to you about them?"

"Yes, I just wasn't sure—"

"My husband's anxieties are the result of a hard life—one which he does not like advertised."

She looked at him with uncertainty before answering quietly, "I understand."

"Harry did have a son named Berran once. Let's just say that some areas of South Africa are not safe places for children."

" _Oh_! Oh, gosh, of course. Oh, I am so sorry, John."

"Evidently, Harry has been having some relapses without my knowledge and Ganbri has had some difficulty understanding some of the things he says. I'll be sure to have a conversation with the both of them. Thank you for bringing it to my attention."

He stood up, making it clear that the conversation was over. He understood why a teacher might be worried over this sort of thing, but it didn't mean that he had any desire to continue discussing it. The loss of Berran was one of the most devastating events Harry had ever experienced and something that personal was not welcome to be asked about by strangers.

"Of course, of course," she stammered quickly, rising to her feet. "If there is anything,  _anything_ , I can do, please, don't hesitate to ask. If you like, I can give you the phone number of a  _great_  counsellor—"

"No, thank you, that won't be needed."

He tucked the writing assignment into the inside pocket of his jacket and spent a moment exchanging parting pleasantries. Ganbri was still swinging his feet and staring at nothing when he emerged from the office and said his last goodbye to Mrs. Reeds.

Ganbri didn't even ask him what the meeting had been about as they walked out to his car. Not even after they had climbed inside and begun the drive home. He just sat there happily, without a care in the world.

The Doctor turned the words over and over in his head.  _He is my friend_ , Ganbri had written. That meant that this hadn't been a one-off.

"Ganbri," the Doctor began slowly. "Your teacher told me that you're friends with a ghost in our house."

"Yeah," Ganbri answered simply, his eyes trained on the world outside his window.

"Do you actually see him? Or does Tokrah let you know when he's there?"

"I see him. At first, I didn't. I heard Tokrah talking to someone and I wanted to know who. Tokrah's thoughts showed me how to see him."

"And what does your Tokrah say when he sees you talking to Berran too?"

Ganbri shrugged. "He tells us to go play outside or something like that."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, he doesn't say very much. Sometimes he says we have to play nicely together and share because we're brothers. And sometimes he tells me that I should help Berran learn his letters because I'm bigger than him."

"Ganbri, do you remember when I told you that sometimes Tokrah has nightmares when he's awake?"

"Yeah . . . I thought Berran might be one of those, but Tokrah doesn't get sad. He likes it when Berran is there, so I thought he couldn't be a nightmare. He must be a ghost."

"There is no ghost," the Doctor assured him. "Sometimes your Tokrah sees things without getting upset by them. That's why it's hard for him to tell, because it can be anything. It's up to you and me to help him see which things are real."

"How do you know he's not a ghost?"

"We could test," the Doctor offered. "If Berran really is a ghost, then he exists by himself. We should be able to find him without Tokrah around and we should be able to see him without connecting with Tokrah first. Want to try that?"

Berran thought about it silently for a minute. "I like Berran," he said quietly. "He's my friend."

Sometimes Ganbri reminded him too much of himself.

"I know," the Doctor answered. "But is it more important to have a pretend friend or to help your Tokrah when he's sick?"

Ganbri thought about it a minute longer. "I can try."

"Thank you."

It made him feel a little sick to his stomach to think about it. How long had Ganbri been playing with and growing attached to the shade of a boy who'd been dead for years? Mostly he wanted to know if Harry knew what was happening or not. He supposed it was possible that Harry might not even be aware that he even imagined anything. With Ganbri going along with the delusion, he might not have had any of his usual triggers to alert him to the fact that he was hallucinating.

"What happened to him?" Ganbri asked after a moment. "Why is he dead?"

"He got hurt."

"You mean that somebody hurt him."

The Doctor chose to ignore that. "And then he got sick . . . and he died before Tokrah could help him get better."

Ganbri fell silent again. His eyes were scanning the people they passed on the streets, his jaw moving as though he were chewing on something that wasn't there. The Doctor could practically hear the cogs turning in his head and he didn't like it at all.

Ganbri had reached the age that he realized his parents sometimes lie or else tell half-truths. Whenever he asked about sensitive things now, he would sit quietly and carefully filter through every word that he was told, picking the lies out.

"Did I have other brothers?"

"Yes," the Doctor answered, feeling his hearts beat a little faster and hoping that this conversation didn't go much further. "Well, half-brothers anyway. And half-sisters too."

"You won't tell me about them." It was a statement, not a question.

"Not today," he answered guiltily. "But one day, yes. One day, I'll tell you everything . . . when you're old enough."

Ganbri nodded his head, his lips pursing slightly as he tried not to sulk. The boy was smart; he already knew that Berran couldn't possibly be more than a hallucination. It was a horrible feeling to have to say goodbye to a friend forever.

Maybe it was too lonely for him, the Doctor wondered. By his own standards, their lives were busy and happily filled with people that they loved. But he supposed to a child that had always had that handful of individuals, it didn't feel quite so fulfilling—especially when Annabelle was the only one even close to his age.

The Doctor’s mind wandered away as they silently drove back to their little white house. They were settled on Earth for now and planning to stay for a while. They had tried to avoid getting into trouble as long as Ganbri was young. If it was already the lifestyle they were living, what was a few more years?

Maybe he should talk to Harry. Maybe they should consider giving Ganbri some brothers and sisters.

Hold on . . .

"Dad?"

Ganbri's voice snapped him back to reality. Somehow he'd driven them home and parked the car without really being aware of it. Ganbri was already out of the car, standing there with his backpack in one hand and the edge of the car door in the other.

"You coming?"

How had he forgotten for so long? You put something off for a day and before you know it . . .

"Ganbri, listen," he said slowly, not quite sure if he should say anything before speaking to Harry. "What if there was . . . a  _possibility_  . . . that you could maybe . . . meet one of your sisters?"

Ganbri blinked at him—thinking, filtering. "You mean they're still alive?"

" _One_  of them," the Doctor corrected quickly. "Maybe. I thought she had died but then I learned some things that I didn't know before. We could look for her. Do you want to?"

"Yes," the boy blurted without hesitation. "What's her name?"

The Doctor smiled at his eagerness. "Her name is Jenny."


	9. 2018 - The Best Medicine

**2018**

It was the way they looked at him—like they were so terribly hurt. It didn't help. The dreams looked just as hurt as the realities. They argued for their own existence just as hard. The only thing that helped was to try to remember.

How had he gotten to this place? Why was he there? Why was everyone else there?  _How_  did they get there? Then he would have to search his memory, looking for something that would pick apart the fabric of a possible delusion. When was the last time he saw that person? Were they an enemy? Were they dead?

If he asked himself enough questions, eventually he would find a hole in the story. Eventually he could prove to himself that they weren't real. Or they were. Sometimes they were real.

The one that stood before him now was the last of at least a dozen others he had already determined to be hallucinations. Like the others, this one talked too much, trying to convince him of a certain reality. They all said those sorts of things. He knew now that he couldn't trust anything he was told. He had to figure it out by himself.

What did he see that was real? What was around him that he could not doubt? He knew this room. Somewhere, in a part of his mind that was trying to hide, he knew that he knew this room. It was definitely Earth, and the arrangement of layer upon layer of seats told him it was a lecture hall. Why was he in a lecture hall? What part of Earth?

"Just shut up, would you?" he snapped irritably.

"Okay. Sorry."

He hated the way he was being looked at. He didn't like the way those hands kept assuming they could touch him. He slapped them away for the hundredth time, growling in annoyance. At least it was quiet now. No more mutterings of someone who was clearly not going to help him make any useful deductions. Stupid.

Now . . . why was he on Earth? What was he doing the last time he was here?

His mind travelled through an immense library of memories, trying to organize and file nine-hundred years into chronological order.

_Harry_. The name Harry came to mind. Why Harry? Was Harry important or was it just a random name? Best to look around and see if there were any connections, he supposed. The room was rather empty aside from the seats, really. There was a bin by the door, and another by the desk at the front of the room. The desk was fairly tidy, with only a book and a couple of papers littering it.

_My wallet_ , a small part of his mind whispered. His hands quickly checked himself, realizing for the first time that he was wearing Earth clothes—a pair of jeans and a white button shirt.  _Dreadful,_ was all he could think of it. He found a wallet in his back pocket and quickly opened it up.

"Yes!" that voice piped up again excitedly. "Yes, that's a good idea."

"I said, shut up!" he barked in return.

He glared at the offending person angrily for a moment, just to be sure that they would stay quiet this time. He didn't know that face, he was sure of it. He'd never seen it before in his life. And yet, just like the room, it seemed familiar somewhere. It  _smelled_  familiar. But it was just on the tip of his tongue, not quite fitting into place.

The wallet had an I.D. card inside—another vaguely familiar face. "Hey," he said aloud, holding the card out to be inspected. "Is that what my face looks like?"

He was answered with a quick and enthusiastic nod. He looked at the picture on the I.D. again a little closer. Not bad, he supposed. He was younger this time around than he had been in a while. Bit of a big nose, but not bad. Harold Mott, the card said.  _Harry_.

"Is my name Harry?"

"Yes. Everyone calls you Harry."

Right. So he was on Earth, wearing Earth clothes, in a lecture hall, with a proper identity card and everything. It did feel right. But then, his imaginings always felt right until they didn't.

Harry. He picked that name himself. When did he pick the name Harry? He thought about the face on the card and the name and something clicked into place. He was going by Harold Saxon then though, not Mott. He wondered why he changed it.

Then he remembered why he had come to Earth as Harold Saxon and he remembered why he failed. Then he remembered the face in front of him.

"Doctor?"

"Yes," he answered eagerly, suddenly sounding extremely relieved. "Yes, that's me."

He decided to pay attention to him now, looking him up and down. He wasn't doing bad in his new body either. Also a bit young, also a bit of a big nose, but certainly not the worst body he'd ever had.

The next step then. Could he conclude whether or not the Doctor was really there? He couldn't recall watching him die. He tried to think of the last time he'd seen him. He saw him in the junkyard, looking so very solemn with that long coat of his fluttering in the wind.

No, no. It was sooner than that. He remembered the two of them talking in the TARDIS, while the Doctor removed a cast on his leg. He put his weight on the leg in question and felt no pain or discomfort, so that injury must have been healed long enough to take its aches with it.

Some old man—Wilfred, was it? Stacks of books in an unfurnished bedroom, cleaning up cups in his old Bio Lab, his fingers sliding shining scissor blades through a forest of dark hair. His hearts sped up slightly, remembering the exciting moment when he realized that the Doctor wanted to be kissed and he just had to work up the nerve to do it.

Something else clicked into place and, before he even looked to see it, he knew that there was a golden ring on his left hand. He stole a glance and saw the Doctor wore one too.

For a second, he held his breath.

"That's right," the Doctor said, noticing where he had been looking. "You and me. It's been nine years, Harry."

"You keep your mouth shut!" he snapped.

The Doctor could be dead for all he knew. He couldn't let that small moment of joyous victory make him forget what he was doing. He couldn't decide to choose a reality simply because it was one that he wanted. There were some in that crowd of dead and forgotten people standing to the side of the room that he had so  _wanted_  to be real. It was so important to focus. He was almost done. He had almost weeded everything out.

His eyes travelled to where Kahlia stood, silent and serene, her pale skin rippling with light and colour. The Doctor was with him when he'd seen her die. They were both covered in so much blood and the stench of it filled his senses. Everything had hurt. He had been so sore and so tired and all he had wanted was to get home. He had just wanted to take the Doctor and his children and go home.

His children. He remembered that he had four children now. And only one that he hadn't confirmed dead.

"Where is he?" he asked, turning his eyes away from the known ghosts and back to the last, questionable figure. "Ganbri. Where's Ganbri?"

"He's at school," the Doctor answered quickly, in the calmest voice he could muster.

The Doctor might not be real. He had to remember that. He couldn't trust anything he said until he had figured out if he was real or not. He could be dead. Ganbri could dead. He had to know that. He had to be prepared for that.

When did he see Ganbri last? He was giving him a bath. No, that memory must have been years ago. Ganbri wasn't a toddler anymore. He sorted through memories of watching films and checking homework and building engines out of scraps.

Finally, he found one in which he was looking at himself in the mirror, lifting his chin to check that he had shaved properly.

" _Jeans today?"_  the Doctor's voice echoed in his memory.

That's right. He had felt like being a bit lazy that morning. He didn't want to wear a suit or a tie; he'd been too much of a proper grown-up lately. Jeans and a dress shirt would do just fine. He remembered the Doctor picking up the basket of dirty laundry and leaving the room. He remembered hearing the TV from downstairs and shouting at Ganbri to stop watching it and get ready for school.

He was wearing those clothes today. That's why he was in a lecture hall. He worked here. He  _taught_  here. He was Professor Mott in this place. His mind slid the memories back into their own positions. He could remember every moment of this day, from tossing his tie aside in the morning, to chatting in the car while the Doctor drove him to work, right up until now. Not a single memory was missing. Every one of them made perfect sense.

The Doctor must have seen the sudden clarity in his eyes because a grin broke out across his face. "Hi."

"Hi."

The other Time Lord stepped forward hesitantly, carefully reaching towards Harry to touch him on the arm. Harry quickly took the hand in his own, to show that the touch was welcomed.

"Where are my students?" he asked, looking at all the empty seats and trying to remember what had happened. The crowd of ghosts still stood on the other side of the room, watching silently. Some, like Kahlia, smiled in a strange, blissfully oblivious way, like they didn't even know that they were only figments of someone's imagination. Others, like his father, scowled as though offended that they were being ignored.

"In their other classes, I suppose," the Doctor answered. "You called me earlier and said you weren't feeling too well, but you kept yourself together until you finished your lecture. They didn't see you."

"Good."

Relief. He would have to answer no awkward questions. He would have to endure no stares. No one had seen. No one had been hurt.

He glanced at his watch. "I have another lecture in twenty minutes."

"Will you be alright? Why don't you come home with me, Harry?"

"It's my last one today," he answered with a sigh. "I'll see you after."

"Okay."

The Doctor looked at him for a moment, the warmth in his eyes not quite enough to mask the concern. Then, without warning or permission, that tall, skinny frame of his was pulling Harry into a hug. He barely managed to utter a word of protest before he gave up and simply stood there, with his arms dangling loosely at his sides while the Doctor embraced him.

"Don't pout," the Doctor chuckled as he released Harry. "I'll pick you up later."

"Yes, yes, thank you," Harry cleared his throat and shooed the Doctor away with his hands.

The Doctor was always a great help whenever Harry had an attack, and when they were home alone together his affections afterwards were usually welcomed. But here he was supposed to be a normal man with a regular work schedule and an attitude that demanded no nonsense from his students and colleagues. It simply wouldn't do if someone were to walk in and see him being coddled by his husband.

The next class came and went. None of them had shown any indication that they could see the group of people lingering at the side of the room, and none of them seemed to notice that Harry could. He stayed focused on his lecture and kept his memories organized in an orderly fashion. No one need ever know that he was sick at all.

The Doctor arrived earlier than usual. Most days, he would arrive fifteen minutes after the end of Harry's work day and wait in the car outside for him to emerge. Today, as Harry packed up his notes and answered the questions of the few students who always seemed to approach him after class, the Doctor appeared.

Some of the students knew him, if only by name, and said a polite hello which the Doctor always returned with more enthusiasm than was called for. The Time Lord worked his way through the flow of exiting students and down the stairs towards Harry's desk.

"Hi, excuse me. Hello!" the Doctor said in his best friendly voice, leaning his face in a bit too close to the students around Harry's desk and waving his hand at them.

Harry glared at him as the students returned the greeting. "We were having a conversation, John," he said, completely lacking amusement.

"Yes, I can see that. So sorry to interrupt," the Doctor turned his charming smile back to the students who were now staring at him. "Yeah, hi, sorry, it's just that Harry—"

" _John_ ," Harry practically growled at him.

"Oh, right. Sorry. I meant  _Professor Mott_ ," the Doctor corrected himself, still smiling happily. "Has really had a rough day."

"Can you just go wait in the car?"

"See, you can really tell," the Doctor continued, making a face for the students that rested somewhere between embarrassed and apologetic. "And because I'm his husband—I'm his husband, by the way. John; nice to meet you—I'd really like to take him home and spoil him a bit. Otherwise he'll just be grumpy tomorrow and that's not really good for anyone, is it?"

Harry sighed, resting his elbows on his desk so that he could drop his head into his hands. When none of his students said anything—apparently too stunned by the wildly inappropriate overgrown child before them—he decided that the best thing to do was to give the Doctor what he wanted.

"Why don't you all just email me your questions," he suggested with another resigned sigh. "I'll answer them when I get home."

The students muttered words of agreement and thanks, threw the Doctor a few more curious and amused looks, and hurriedly left.

"Wonderful," the Doctor said happily as he waved them goodbye.

"That was so inappropriate."

"Not as inappropriate as the day you chased Jack through the TARDIS naked."

Harry quickly looked up to make sure that his students had actually left the room and not been around to hear that. "I'm their teacher. I have a reputation to uphold."

"I know. Now you get to be known as the professor with the positively dashing husband."

The Doctor pulled his hand out from behind his back and placed a picture frame on Harry's desk. It was a slightly older picture from a couple of years ago, but it was one of his favourites. There was the Doctor with his impish grin and Ganbri resting on his shoulders. Yellow and orange leaves were falling around them, and Ganbri held one in his tiny hand.

"To look at when you're having a bad day," the Doctor said quietly. "And to remind your students of how dashing I am. You know, in case you start losing your reputation."

All Harry could do was smile and shake his head. "Alright, you win," he said in defeat, standing from his desk and letting the Doctor's hand slip into his own. "But only because you promised to spoil me."

"I only said I'd spoil you a  _bit_."

As the Doctor cheerfully chatted away, teasing him and provoking him, Harry felt the old demons in his head settle down to rest for a while. He couldn't help but chuckle at some of the ridiculous things that came out of the Doctor's mouth and part of him was already thinking of the stunned look on his students' faces with amusement.

As he closed the door to his lecture hall behind them, he forgot to look and see if any of his ghosts were still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of The Light of Mu'atin, the third part of this series, happen between this chapter and the next. The story covers the introduction of Jack Nista, who will appear in future chapters of Domestic Life. At this point, read The Light of Mu'atin before progressing with Domestic Life.
> 
> (I am still in the process of transferring the stories over from ff.net. The Light of Mu'atin should be available in full within the next couple of days. Thanks for your patience.)


	10. 2019 - Planning for the Next Generation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events from this chapter onward take place after Part 3 of this series, The Light of Mu'atin. If you haven't read that story yet, read that before continuing here.

** 2019 **

The Doctor had made sure to have coffee waiting when Jack woke up, sitting a couple of biscuits next to the steaming mug. He watched out the window, sipping his own coffee, as his human companion snorted and sighed his way back into consciousness.

There was something wonderfully endearing about watching Harry play with children. The old brute stomped around in the snow, his body wobbling around like a drunkard in what he was sure Harry considered evasive manoeuvres. He ducked behind trees and packed snowballs in an entirely menacing way, laughing wickedly and pointing at the children so they would know who he was going to hit next. That kind of evil look in his eye used to send shivers down the Doctor's spine, but these days it made him smile.

Jack made another obnoxious sounding snort, this one finally disrupting enough that he coughed and shook his head. The Doctor continued watching out the window while Jack blinked sleepily around the room, stretching and putting the pieces together.

"You're tired," the Doctor said, sipping his coffee again.

"Very observant," Jack answered with a yawn. "This for me?"

The Doctor nodded without looking, his eyes locked on the outside world. Harry had just pointed straight at Annabelle and, from the wicked grin on his face as his lips moved, was clearly telling her exactly how much snow he was going to land on her face. Annie screamed and began to run towards one of the stockpiles of pre-made snowballs hidden around the yard.

"That's good," Jack said after a long draw from his cup. "Thanks."

It had only taken about fifteen minutes after Harry had rounded up the kids to play that Jack passed out on the couch. The Doctor fetched a blanket and let him sleep and eventually the play moved to the backyard where the noise wouldn't bother their sleeping friend as much.

"It's not easy, is it?" the Doctor asked, unable to help feeling a little bit of smug glee. "You've got bags under your eyes, Jack. You're no good to me once you lose your looks."

"Bite me," Jack chuckled, clutching his mug of coffee as though it were all that were keeping him alive. "I  _have_  had kids before, you know."

"Yes, but one you raised yourself?  _By_  yourself?"

Jack thought about it a moment and then shook his head. "Okay, maybe it wasn't quite the same level of involvement."

The Doctor grinned. Oh, the woes of parenting. Years of eternal messes with only vague memories of feeling well rested and, at the end of it all, you miss it when it's gone.

"But is it working for you?"

Jack sighed as he rubbed a little more sleep from his eyes, but his voice sounded confident when he answered. "Yeah. He's a good kid. Real good."

"And you love him," the Doctor finished for him.

Jack shrugged a bit awkwardly and returned to his coffee, and the Doctor smiled knowingly in return. Jack was loud and boisterous with his general behaviour, but the things that mattered he kept close to his heart. It had only been four months since Jack had accepted responsibility of an orphaned Alreesh child named Da'in-Nuek Nista, but the two were completely inseparable.

Da'in had  _chosen_  Jack, rather than being assigned to whoever could take him, the way those things normally worked out. They had bonded so quickly that, on the first day of meeting him, Da'in had decided that he wanted to take the name Jack as his own for his new life—after all, it was Alreesh tradition for sons to be named after their fathers. Now he was Jack Nista, but they had convinced him to accept J.J., short for Jack Junior, to avoid confusion.

J.J. had grown a lot in four months, much faster than most human children would grow. He was still smaller than Ganbri, and he would never grow to be a tall man, but he'd gained at least three inches in his short time on Earth. And his height was nothing compared to his weight. When they first met J.J., he was scarcely more than skin and bone, but now he clearly had a layer or two of meat and muscle beneath his skin.

"We could take him sometimes," the Doctor offered. "You know, if you ever need a break. Or a nap."

Jack exhaled heavily, his eyes going wide as though he was remembering something particularly stressful. "He's a handful."

"He's a good kid, remember?"

"Doesn't make him any less of a handful."

The Doctor smiled a little wider as he watched out the window. J.J. clearly thought he was being clever, stalking around the edges of the yard carefully, trying to sneak around Harry to attack him from behind. It would have looked quite predatory, even with the shimmer that disguised his alien features, if not for the knitted penguin cap and the snowball in his hand.

"Have you met Harry?" the Doctor asked sarcastically.

Jack chuckled. "Fair enough."

Harry knew that J.J. was behind him, the Doctor knew his body language well enough. He pretended that he didn't notice and bombarded Ganbri and Annie with snowballs instead. Then, when J.J. launched his ambush, Harry made a show of shouting in surprise and even tumbling to the ground as the snowballs struck him. J.J. looked thoroughly pleased with himself as he pounded more snow at the grown man.

After a moment and another long sip, Jack sighed again. "I don't know. I don't think he's really ready for me to leave him somewhere without me."

"He's not ready or you're not ready?"

"He's a tough kid, but it wasn't very long ago that his mother died."

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully. "And then he made the decision to leave the remainder of his family, everyone he's ever known, and his own planet in order to learn basic science and reading skills from a bunch of strangers. I have a feeling he's not as needy as you might think."

Jack gave him a stern look, clearly annoyed. The Doctor just grinned in return. Jack enjoyed the convenient excuse that J.J. was very young and had recently suffered great loss as a reason to never be separated from him by more than a wall or two. From what the Doctor understood, Jack—the infamous Captain Jack Harkness—hadn't even been on a date since bringing the little boy home.

J.J. was stalking Harry again, creeping around behind him and trying to catch him off guard. This time Harry spun around and chased him instead. J.J. didn't squeal or scream the way the other kids did when he was chased. He just ran. Some of the innocence in watching children at play died when you noticed that one of them was practicing survival skills instead of just enjoying himself.

"He's strong," the Doctor added.

Jack sighed. "He's . . ." He paused, thought a moment, rubbed at his tired face with his hands, and said nothing.

He was broken. That's what Jack wanted to say.

Jack was one of the few humans the Doctor had known who had lived too long and seen too much. It was part of the reason that they got along so well and why they could so often understand each other without a word spoken. Jack's way of living, and particularly the way he  _kept_  living, had taken some perfectly normal and happy people and ruined them completely. Somewhere in the world he had a daughter that would likely never speak to him again. Somewhere else, his grandson was in the ground, and Jack was the one who had put him there. Friends and lovers had died for him, betrayed him, turned murderous, or even killed themselves. With time, they all inevitably found themselves pulled in too deep.

What would happen to someone who  _began_  on that side of things?

But, even as the Doctor pondered over that worrying thought, he watched as J.J. smacked a snowball out of the air that wasn't even aimed at him. The boy darted back and forth, kicking up snow and making an awful lot of fuss while Annie resupplied herself with fresh ammo. When she was ready, J.J. returned to her side and helped with the assault. When she began to run low again, he would creep around Harry's sides, as though to ambush him, and keep his attention once spotted.

The Doctor smiled. "He'll be a fighter, no doubt," he said quietly. "He'll wreak havoc and make you want to tear your hair out. But, above all, J.J. was born to be a bodyguard. His protector's instincts are far greater than the hunter's. As long as he has a family, he has a purpose, and you can't ever die, Jack."

"That Beast of yours can't die either," Jack answered too casually. "Do you think it would be good for him to have that around too?"

The Doctor wanted to snap at him instantly and even felt his lip twitch upward in the beginnings of a snarl. He hadn't even allowed that conversation with Harry yet, so he certainly wasn't going to defend himself to someone like Jack. He was fed up with the subtle hints he'd been getting from everyone for the past several months that he needed to dispose of the creature simply because he had unleashed it for a few moments. The Beast was his and his alone—they were part of each other now—and no one would take it from him.

"You should bring him 'round more often," the Doctor said, forcing his face to remain calm, as though Jack hadn't spoken. "I want Harry to get used to having more children around."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You want another one?"

He hummed thoughtfully in response and took a slow drink from his cup. "Ganbri's getting older every day. It won't be long before he's dating and staying out past curfew and stealing my TARDIS."

"And working, don't forget that."

"Ugh, working," the Doctor rubbed at his face, feeling as though the very thought was exhausting. "My son, one of the last of the Time Lords, working in some bloody shoe shop or something until some primitive Earth school gives him permission to do the sort of work he's been doing since he was four."

"Or he could work with Torchwood."

"You're not restarting Torchwood," the Doctor said firmly. "Torchwood is dead."

Jack didn't need to say anything for the Doctor to understand the situation. His days of giving Jack orders were over. They were on neutral ground on Earth and Jack had experienced a very, very long life by now—hell, he might even be older than the Doctor at this point. He wasn't some young, naïve human who was just happy to be along for the ride anymore.

"I'm just in the planning stages right now," Jack began to explain in a voice of perfect nonchalance. "Obviously, I will be taking a much deeper look at security this time around—"

"No," the Doctor said, dropping his voice to a growl. "You can't do this, Jack. You just can't. Torchwood, sooner or later, is a death sentence. You are responsible for a  _person_  now. That little boy out there has nothing else left in the world but you. You think you're going to have any choice at all over whether he joins?"

"I couldn't stop him with my last breath," Jack agreed, nodding his head slowly. "Which is why I will instead put all my energy into making Torchwood the most secure organization in the world. We were untouchable once, you know, but we got too comfortable. My last team was actually having pizza delivered to headquarters and then we were surprised when people found out where we were. Mistakes were made and they cost lives, but I won't be making those mistakes again."

"No, you'll make new ones," the Doctor hissed in return.

Harry's face turned towards him from outside the window, ignoring the three separate snowballs that struck his torso as he did. The Doctor took a deep breath, forced himself to relax a bit, and gave Harry what he hoped looked like a convincing smile. Being married to a powerful telepath could be a real pain in the ass sometimes.

"Look," Jack had put on his most serious voice now. "If I don't start up Torchwood again, there won't be any form of order for when those kids grow up. You've seen what happens to your companions—they never go back. They  _can't_. Once you've seen what's out there, it's impossible to just sit back and watch when you know you could be saving lives."

"Jack . . ." His voice sounded weak, even to himself. He had no argument that would win this, and he knew it.

Jack continued, his voice gaining a bit of momentum. "Those kids out there are  _going_  to start doing Torchwood's work, with or without the name, our blessing, or our help. If I don't restart Torchwood myself so that they have an established and disciplined organization to join, in ten or fifteen years they'll just be running around in the streets on their own without a clue. You can't teach kids abstinence, Doctor, it just doesn't work."

The Doctor closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "And you think that training them to be soldiers and putting guns in their hands will keep them safe?"

"I think that the people who fought beside us against the Nightmare were trained soldiers with guns in their hands and they made it out alive as well as saving our asses."

The Doctor tried not to remember, but the memories swam to the surface as if they were the present moment. He remembered the Prowler snapping a man's neck so quickly that the Doctor would have missed it if he had blinked. He remembered Jack Nista's fangs dripping with blood while he dropped a lifeless, throatless body on the ground. He remembered the Beast and the hunger it felt.

He remembered the way its snarling filled his head.

Harry's head snapped towards him again. The look of curious concern had intensified to one of genuine worry. Any second, Harry would find an excuse to round up the kids and bring them back inside.

"You know I'm right," Jack said, speaking a little softer now. "You might not like the idea of your son being a soldier but, either way, he's going to war. Do you want him to go prepared or not?"

The Doctor could tell from the way Harry's mouth moved and the gestures he made that he was telling the kids it was too cold to be outside now.  _What a liar_ , the Doctor thought with a shake of his head. Harry thrived in the cold and frequently complained of everywhere being too warm. But it was working, and the children began to move towards the house.

"You will not have my support on this," the Doctor said stubbornly as he watched them wade through the snow.

"That's fine."

They were too young. They were just too damn young. It was too hard for him to look at those tiny little people and think of the young men he had seen. He wondered how long it would be before Ganbri was whining to trade his beautiful hair for the military style buzzcut that he had when they met. He wondered how long it would take for him and Nista to snap to attention and bark out "yes, sir" like trained dogs whenever Harry gave them an order.

It didn't really matter. It would happen. They would be soldiers one day. And no matter how much he hated it, Jack was right. That training would save them all.

The door opened and flushed, giggling faces stepped into the warmth of the house. Snow was stomped off of boots, gloves and scarves were dropped to the floor, and there were already plenty of drips from the melted snow on their clothing.

"Alright?" Harry asked, sounding as cheerful as possible. "It was getting a bit nippy, so I promised these three some hot chocolates."

"Can I have marshmallows in mine?" Annie asked as she unzipped her coat.

"What are marshmallows?" J.J. asked, tipping his head to the side curiously. "Can I have some too?"

"Yeah, I think we have some," Harry answered. "You'll like them, J.J., they're nice."

"Three hot chocolates with marshmallows, coming right up!" The Doctor reminded himself to grin as widely as he normally would and headed off to the kitchen. Harry would soon follow him to 'help' and the Doctor would have to spend a few minutes convincing him that everything was fine.

He glanced back over his shoulder to watch as Jack moved over to help J.J. with the zipper on his coat. J.J. had only been in Jack's care for a few months and yet the immortal man had simply dived in without hesitation. Without a second thought, he had taken any and every responsibility upon himself. He was there for J.J. when the terrors came at night, when the questions came during the day, and he would be there when the war came in the future.

In a few short months, Jack had made plans to make sure J.J. would be safe for the next twenty years. This wasn't some passing fancy to him—he was planning to be a father for the rest of that little boy's life, and he was planning for that to be a very long time.

The Doctor hadn't thought about how to ensure that Ganbri would survive the coming years. He never wanted to think about that at all. He hated the thought of his son being a trained killer. He hated the thought of his son fighting in a war.

But most of all, he hated the idea that Jack might be a better father than he was.


	11. 2020 - Dawn of a New Torchwood

** 2020 **

Professor Harold Mott had a nice ring to it. In order for Harry to continue his research in the university labs, it had become a requirement for him to teach there as well. He didn't like being torn away from his work, or spending hours teaching rooms full of hopeless students, and he certainly didn't like the hours spent grading papers. But he did like the name.

He liked bumping into people at the store or the park who knew everything about his work at the university. He especially liked that the majority of those people had no idea who the Doctor was and that he usually had to introduce him. He liked that everything he said was law and that nobody sassed him or tried to prove him wrong. One person already doing that was more than enough for Harry.

The first day of a new class was always an interesting one because Harry did have a special advantage over any other teacher—telepathy. He knew exactly what every student's true goals and ambitions were the moment they walked through the door. He found the ones who were only there because their parents pressured them into college, the ones who had no intention of following the field but had to pick  _something_ , the ones with true passion, the ones who cheated. He thoroughly enjoyed picking out the ones with attitude problems and correcting them. No human was going to sit in the presence of a Time Lord and think of themselves as more important.

He arrived far earlier than usual, taking time to organize his desk and notes and watch as the new batch slowly filtered in. There were the early birds—some of them coming first thing because they were excited, some because they thought that if they had a proper introduction to their professor it would somehow help them, and some because they were terrified of being late. The others followed soon after and he neatly tucked each one into a separate category in his mind.

That was why he spotted Declan Davies just as easily as Declan spotted him. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the boy. Their eyes locked from across the room and Declan's bright baby blues suddenly looked very startled. The boy wanted to look away and yet he continued to stare with wide eyes. Harry prowled around his mind, pulling out what information he could, like the boy's name. He was young, somewhere around twenty-four, with short, orange hair and skin white as milk that was simply covered in freckles—a ginger in every sense of the word. But most importantly, Declan had several words of great interest whispering around his mind.

"Good morning," Harry said loudly as the last of his students found seats. "I am Professor Harold Mott and I will be teaching you about cellular bioengineering. That is a bit easier for me to do if I know who you are first. So, let's start at the far back left corner there and move to the right. Just tell me your name and what you want to be when you grow up."

He hardly listened as the students announced themselves. He already knew their names, their goals, and an awful lot more about them but doing this gave him an excuse for knowing them. During his first year as a professor, he did rouse some suspicion when he called a student by name or made some comment about their goals when he had yet to actually speak to that student. If he let them rattle off a bit of information at the start of the first class, no one found it odd that he knew their name.

As he launched into his routine introduction to the class, he could hear all of their little minds thinking away. But, when others were thinking about classes or weekend plans, any time he turned his thoughts towards that skinny little ginger, he heard far more familiar words.

_ Saxon. Torchwood. The Valiant. Aliens. Time Lords. _

Declan knew who he was.

He was constantly meeting people who said he looked like Harold Saxon. He was well used to that by now. But this was different. As Harry recited his presentation, he pressed a little further into Declan's mind. The boy's head was filled with the tales of aliens and the many bizarre events Earth had faced in the last two decades. He had actively gone in search of it and his instincts had led him to dig in the right spots.

When Harry paused for a breath, his eyes caught Declan's again. He stared straight into that hopeful innocence and naïve fear and couldn't help but grin. The boy looked about ready to piss himself when he realized Harry was staring right at him.

As time ticked away, he felt himself getting a little excited. The boy could turn out to be a huge disappointment or he could turn out to be exactly what Harry thought he was, but either way he was in for an interesting conversation.

He finished his speech, assigned his homework, answered the same questions he'd been asked a thousand times before. The time had come. As his students packed up their things and prepared to leave, Harry spoke in as casual a voice as he could manage.

"Mr. Davies, I would like for you to stay a moment."

There were, of course, a couple of stragglers. They took too long gathering their things or stopped to chat, some of them even stayed a minute longer to ask Harry a question or two that they should have asked during the question period earlier. Declan waited patiently in his seat, looking more and more like he was going to throw up as the minutes passed.

Finally, the last pair of girls flitted out the doorway and Harry was left sitting at his desk, staring across empty chairs at his new target. He raised a finger, curling it repeatedly to beckon the boy forward. Declan hesitantly got up from his seat, slung his bag over his shoulder, and made his way towards him.

He was afraid. The nervousness was rolling off of him so strongly that Harry actually put a few walls up around his own mind to keep the uncomfortable feeling out.

"You've been staring at me like you expect me to catch fire," Harry said slowly. "I would like to know why."

The boy shifted from foot to foot and tried his best to smile as the words stammered from his mouth in a thick Irish accent. "Sorry, I didn't mean—it's nothing."

"I don't appreciate lies any more than I do being stared at."

"Well . . . with all due respect, you do stand at the front of the room and tell us to pay attention."

"Nor do I appreciate being mocked, Mr. Davies. You are trying my patience."

Declan swallowed hard. His fingers nervously picked at the strap of his bag, his eyes glancing towards the exit. He was considering just making a run for it but his mind was reminding him that only one of two things would happen: he would be wrong about his suspicions and make a total fool of himself, or he would be right and merely confirm that he knew too much. Harry smiled as he heard the boy's whispers of imagination warning him of government assassins or alien abductions.

"Declan, sit down."

Declan opened his mouth to say something but quickly closed it. He felt trapped now. As he dropped his bag to the floor and reluctantly pulled a chair up to the desk, his mind was filling with more and more consequences to this conversation, each more insane than the last.

"Talk."

"It's just that . . . well, you kind of look like someone."

"Like Harold Saxon, you mean?"

He looked surprised. "A bit."

"Why would me looking a 'bit' like a mad old Prime Minister make you so nervous?"

"It doesn't," Declan answered quickly. "First day jitters, that's all. I didn't mean to be rude."

"What did I say about lying?"

Those blue eyes looked downward quickly. Harry could see a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. Thoughts poured out of him uncontrollably, weaving words and lies by the second. There was no doubt in Declan's mind of who Harry really was.

"Is it because you think I might actually  _be_  Harold Saxon?"

Declan nodded his head quickly, trying not to meet Harry's eyes.

"What if I told you that I was?"

An odd shaky breath escaped Declan's mouth and his eyes quickly travelled everywhere in the room except for at Harry. "Is this, uh . . . like one of those conversations with Hannibal Lecter where I suddenly decide to go backpacking around Europe afterwards and no one ever sees me again?"

"Let's hope not."

"Right," Declan made an oddly high-pitched sound of fear that he tried to cover up as a chuckle.

Harry did his best polite smile and leaned back in his seat. "Well, luckily for you, I am not Harold Saxon. After all, Saxon is dead. Surely, you know that his service as Prime Minister ended so abruptly because his wife shot him dead. I'm not a politician, I'm not dead, and I don't have a wife. I couldn't possibly be him."

Declan looked immediately relieved and Harry could hear his mind whispering again. He still had no doubts whatsoever about his new teacher's identity, but he took Harry's last comment as a good sign. He was free to go with the knowledge he had as long as he kept quiet about it. That was what he must have been getting at, right?

But then those blue eyes betrayed him once more. Ever straying, ever searching, ever  _needing_  to discover and learn and find out. The boy had a need to root out the truth stronger than his need to keep himself safe.

"What is it, Mr. Davies?" Harry asked with a knowing smile.

Declan hesitated, unable to tear his eyes away from Harry's left hand. "You're wearing a wedding ring . . . You said you didn't have a wife."

Good.

"Well, if you must know . . ." he said with a sigh, opening the top drawer of his desk. He reached in and pulled out a small framed photograph—one of a few that he kept on hand in case his day took a turn for the worse and he needed a reminder of why he bore through it.

He placed the photo on the desk top for Declan to see. There was his beloved Doctor, with Ganbri on his shoulders, faces wide with smiles. It was a photo that made most people smile when he showed it, but Declan's eyes widened and his mouth slipped open in surprise.

"Don't tell me you have a problem with same sex couples." Harry knew he didn't, but it was all part of the little game he enjoyed so much.

"No," Declan spluttered, lifting a slightly quivering finger to point at the photograph. "Sorry. That's your husband?"

"And my son. Yes."

"Huh." He was grinning nervously, fidgeting, suddenly a little short of breath. Was there something Harry had missed? He assumed that Declan would recognize the Doctor, judging by his general interests, but his reaction was a bit stronger than anticipated.

"That's an old picture though," Harry continued speaking just to keep Declan quiet while he prowled around the boy's thoughts. "Ganbri is only five in that picture. He's nearly ten now."

If the Doctor were there, he would have been furious, but Harry decided to dig a little deeper into Declan's mind. He caught glimpses of news stories about children going missing and the very worried face of a woman he could only assume was Declan's mother. He was twelve when it happened, old enough to stay alone at home, but his mother was too afraid and insisted that he stay with the old woman down the street while she was at work.

All the images were rushing by very quickly, but Harry was able to work out what it all meant. The old woman turned out to be a kardedge, disguised as a harmless granny so that she could freely 'shop' through the population for the most delicious children. Declan heard scratching coming from the walls and she told him it was mice. He didn't believe her, and his curiosity drove him to look for the true source. When he found the secret panel that slid open and discovered the rows of children hidden in the walls, barely conscious and hooked up to life support systems, she took him too. He screamed as loudly as he could in the struggle and managed to throw a book at one of the windows and smash it.

That simple act had saved his life. The Doctor had been walking down the street at that moment, asking the neighbourhood questions about the vanished children.

So Declan wasn't just interested in Earth's interactions with aliens, he was  _obsessed_  with it. He had joined clubs of alien enthusiasts through his teenage years, spoken to every witness he could find, and rooted out any information on the Doctor he could get his hands on. His dream had been to be a member of Torchwood before they were destroyed. The boy had even managed to discover a support group for the survivors of the Valiant, listening to their stories of the Year That Never Was.

Oh, he really did know all about Harold Saxon. And he knew that the Doctor had cried in terrible heartache when the Master died in his arms.

"Although, I suppose it could be reasonable to think that I might be Saxon," Harry added, watching Declan's face carefully. "After all, they say he was mad. I would think that anyone who had suffered madness and recovered would seek out a life of stability and routine. Why not become a teacher?"

He felt the nervousness rise up in Declan again, but it was confused now. He was terrified of Harry, but the Doctor had been his personal hero since he was twelve. His eyes kept trailing to that picture on the desk as he tried to work out whether or not it meant safety.

"I would imagine so," Declan agreed quietly. "And it would probably work because anybody suggesting that he might be Harold Saxon would sound ridiculous because everybody knows that he died."

"People would ignore the obvious because they don't want to embarrass themselves and an infamous man could hide in plain sight."

Declan met his eyes now. He wasn't fidgeting or biting his lip anymore. He was calm.

"You're not hurting anyone," the boy stated clearly.

"No," Harry confirmed. "Nobody outside of the classroom or the science circles has ever heard of me. I go home at the end of the day, cook dinner, play with my son, talk to my husband about what we really ought to get around to doing and then don't do any of it. Just like anyone else."

"Except for the being aliens part," Declan blurted. He hadn't meant to say it. The way his eyes widened and his lips tightened made it very clear that he had not meant to say it. The smartass just couldn't help himself.

Harry smiled. "I like you," he said, leaning forward across his desk. "But I don't want you in my class."

"What?"

"You don't want to be here. You don't want to be a lab rat in a coat with a fancy degree," he continued, then dropped his voice to a whisper. "You want to be in Torchwood."

Declan looked at him with uncertainty. "There is no Torchwood. All of its members died."

"If you know as much as you seem to think you do, then you know that can't possibly be true."

Declan's eyes widened, instantly full of understanding and hope. "I want to be in Torchwood," he stated clearly.

"That's what I thought," Harry said pleasantly. He leaned back in his seat again and fished through his desk drawer for a spare piece of paper and a pen. "I know a man, you see—friend of the family. My boy actually calls him Uncle Jack."

He tried not to but he felt himself starting to grin. The look on Declan's face was simply too amusing to him. His fingers were fidgeting with each other and his back was straight as a board as his eyes stared eagerly at the paper Harry was writing on. He was pretty sure the boy was even holding his breath.

"Anyway, my friend Jack actually had some involvement with Torchwood before it fell and has expressed an interest in restoring it. I told him I would keep an eye out for anyone worth considering," he slid the paper across the desk and watched the way Declan picked it up like it was a priceless treasure. "That's his phone number."

Declan hurriedly tucked the paper away in his pocket before Harry had a chance to change his mind. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He waited for Declan to get up and leave, but he didn't. The two of them just sat there, staring at each other for a minute. Finally, Harry realized that the boy was desperately trying to ask something and just couldn't quite work up the nerve.

"What?"

"Can I meet your husband?" Declan blurted a little too loudly. "He's the Doctor, right? Well, I mean, I know he's not. He's Andrew or Scott or—"

"John," Harry corrected.

"Right. John. I would really like to meet John. Please?"

Harry narrowed his eyes a little. He didn't like bringing strangers to his family nearly as much as the Doctor did, especially when Ganbri got attached to people so easily. But he had seen it in Declan's head—the Doctor was his hero. All he wanted to do was say thank you.

He pulled another slip of paper from his desk with a sigh. "You can come tomorrow after four. Bring some biscuits or something and he'll be your best friend for life," he slid the paper containing his address across the desk hesitantly. "Do  _not_  mention Torchwood to him, especially not anything about  _me_  talking to you about it. And if you get even the slightest whisper of a hint from me that I want you to leave, you leave."

"Will I get to see the blue box?" Declan whispered excitedly.

"Don't ask questions like that either," he answered strictly. "Unless he brings that sort of thing up, you know absolutely nothing about any of it. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," Harry smiled and leaned back in his seat comfortably, interlocking his hands over his stomach. "Now get out of here before I decide to recommend you backpack across Europe."


	12. 2021 - An Awful Lot of Running

** 2021 **

"Explain to me again why it is that we  _ever_  listen to you!?"

"Shut up, Jack!" Ganbri shouted back, breathless and half laughing. "I'm the oldest!"

"Being the oldest doesn't make you smarter, you know!" Annie argued. Her legs were shorter than his and she was beginning to fall behind. J.J. was the smallest out of the three of them and yet he was somehow the fastest, but he fell back so that he could grab Annie's hand and help her along. He probably should have thought of doing that himself.

"Fine, then it's because I'm a Time Lord," he answered. "Everyone knows that Time Lords are smart."

"That's racist!" Annie barked at him.

Something wet and sticky hit him in the back of his head. It was probably one of the many bulbous yellow fruits hanging low from the trees around them. If he had fallen back to stay with Annie instead of racing ahead as fast as he could, she wouldn't have been able to throw it at him.

Ganbri liked Jack—he really, really did. But sometimes that kid just made him look bad.

"We're going to be in so much trouble because of  _you_!" Annabelle screamed, managing to pick up the pace a little bit.

"If we don't get eaten or squished first!" J.J. added angrily.

He wanted to answer with something smart, but when he looked back to give her his best cocky grin, he saw the trees behind them bending and swaying like grass in the wind.

Okay, so maybe this wasn't the best idea.

"Keep up!" was all he said instead.

Puara was a planet famous for its vast jungles and extensive wildlife. Tokrah had been talking about visiting it for ages now but Banni had always argued that it wasn't safe for children. This year, it had finally been decided that the kids were old enough to properly understand danger and not wander off on their own.

So really, it was his parents' fault for making such wild assumptions.

The creature chasing them was absolutely enormous—the height of a giraffe with the muscle bulk of an ox. It roared loudly enough to make the ground rumble and its many limbs knocked trees over the way Ganbri might push a small branch aside. But it was impossible to really be scared of it—it was just too  _cute_.

The ghorex, which is what Tokrah said it was called, had three sets of black eyes stacked on top of each other that were far too huge and shiny to be creepy. The velvet soft, baby blue fur with the occasional purple polka dot made it look more like a stuffed toy than a dangerous animal. Its four short, stubby legs with massive, clawless feet made it look a bit like a baby, despite its gigantic size. Its two dozen or so flexible, trunk-like upper limbs flicking about to pick up objects and hold them protectively close reminded Ganbri of the behaviour of a squirrel or hamster when they've found something particularly delicious. And the way it occasionally had to flick one of its large, floppy ears out of its eyes was simply adorable.

Tokrah had told them that the ghorex was a gentle herbivore, but dangerous if it felt threatened, and that they were to only watch it from a distance and not disturb it. So they had watched it, wandering slowly about, collecting small treasures that it found. Tokrah said that some of what it collected was food, but some things it took simply because it looked or felt or smelled nice to be hoarded away in the nest. The great, walking plush toy looked so happy and content as it popped fruit into its large, gaping mouth while cradling armfuls more against its body.

It probably wasn't a good idea to steal from it.

"Jack, can it climb?" he shouted over his shoulder.

The animal was huge, yes, but some of the trees in this place were even bigger. It was possible that some of them could have supported its weight, and it was also possible that those flexible arms could be used to pull it up the branches.

J.J. had a talent for understanding what an animal was capable of judging by its body or the way it behaved. He had expected the Alreesh boy to look back, take a second to judge, and then report. He  _hadn't_  expected him to stop, run back towards it, and then take a sharp turn to climb one of the bigger tree species.

The ghorex roared with rage at the tiny being darting about in front of it and slammed its massive bulk against the tree the moment Jack had leapt onto it. The tree shook aggressively but its thick trunk stayed rooted and J.J. scrambled up to the higher branches.

Annie stopped running and was turning around to go back for Jack, but Ganbri grabbed her hand and dragged her along behind them. Jack was much faster than they were, and he would catch up quickly enough.

They could hear the creature roaring in frustration as they gained some distance. Branches snapped and the tree could be heard straining as it took on weight, but he never heard the cracking and groaning of the tree falling over.

It was probably less than a minute of them running away from the storm of noise, but it felt like much longer. Annie was shouting at him again, calling him stupid and all other manner of things. He was too focused on getting her away from that crazed monster to care. He was so focused on that, that he almost didn't notice when Jack silently returned to his side, barely breathing any harder as he ran.

"Nope," Jack said simply.

"Then we need a really big tree."

Jack didn't say anything. He just sped up, darting away from them with his inhuman speed. The earlier distraction had gained them some distance and so, for the moment at least, it seemed that running would suffice. But the creature was catching up quickly . . .

"If we climb up a tree, we have to come down eventually," Annie reminded him, huffing as she ran. "It doesn't fix the problem!"

"It will give me time to think," Ganbri answered a bit sharply.

"Could have done that earlier, couldn't you?"

Jack reappeared, running straight towards them. "Left at the jagged rock," he reported quickly and continued on past them.

Annie shrieked for him to come back and Ganbri glanced over his shoulder just in time to see J.J. flinch with hesitation. Jack found it difficult to ignore the words of a female, whether it was an adult or a little girl like Annie, and Ganbri was sure that it was even harder for him to leave her when she was scared. For a second, Ganbri thought J.J. might actually come back and run with them, but the moment of hesitation passed and he ran faster towards the ghorex.

"We have to get him!" Annie shouted, slapping hard at Ganbri in an attempt to make him let go of her. "Ganbri, I mean it!"

"He knows what he's doing!" He knew she'd be furious with him later, but he tightened his grip and kept running. If he had to hoist her over his shoulder kicking and screaming, he would.

He didn't look back again, but he could hear the ghorex roaring with newfound rage. The rhythmic thumping of its feet striking the ground changed to something more chaotic and random. Jack was likely running around it to catch its attention and distract it while Ganbri got Annie to safety, and he was fast enough that he could get away on his own.

Probably.

Ganbri saw a boulder with sharp edges facing the sky as though it had pierced its way up through the earth, or perhaps like a trap waiting for something to fall upon it. He turned left and saw the tree just ahead, with a trunk nearly three times the width of the others around it.

Once they reached it, Annie pulled her arm free and climbed up it quickly. Small grooves in the bark made easy hand and footholds and it didn't take long for them to reach the branches. They climbed higher and Ganbri began scanning the ground for signs of Jack.

The Alreesh was nowhere to be seen, but the trees around them swayed with movement. The ghorex had left the path they were running on, which meant that J.J. likely had too.

"You can't just let him run into stuff like that!" Annie barked, eyes frantically searching. "He's too little, Ganbri!"

She wanted to cry, he could tell. He'd seen Annie cry lots of times before, but it seemed that, ever since they brought J.J. home, she tried not to anymore. He saw a thin layer of wetness glimmering over eyes and then watched as she bit her lip hard and forced them to go away.

"I didn't tell him to do any of that," Ganbri answered, trying to sound perfectly calm. "All I did was ask if he thought it could climb trees. He did the rest himself."

Her eyes were hard with anger when she looked at him. "You know what he's like."

He couldn't help looking away from her. "Sorry," he muttered quietly.

The next couple of minutes were tense and silent. Annie grew closer to tears the longer they waited and even Ganbri began to get nervous that he had overestimated J.J.'s speed. The ghorex had stopped running, out there in the trees. It could mean that J.J. had gotten away and it had given up the chase.

Or it could mean it was eating him.

After another minute of awful silence, Annie whispered, "Do you think—?"

"He's fine," Ganbri interrupted firmly. "He's coming."

But what was taking so long?

Annie sniffed once and shook her head, disguising the action by bunching up her hair in her hands and tying it in a ponytail. "So what is that stupid thing anyway?"

Ganbri had almost forgotten the small treasure he had stolen and immediately started checking his pockets. His hands fumbled, trembling slightly from the combination of nerves and adrenaline, but he managed to pull it out without dropping it.

While everyone else was staring at the ghorex and its odd features, or the enormous and exotic plants it was picking its way through, Ganbri noticed a tiny tool being clutched greedily against the beast's fur. The device was obviously homemade, with its wires poking out in loops with only small and ill-fitting pieces of metal to act as a sort of casing. A small, disc shaped piece of silvery metal sat on the end of it like a tiny antenna and, when Ganbri pointed it forward, the device fit comfortably in his hand with all the buttons within easy reach of his fingertips.

"Looks like Uncle John's screwdriver," Annie said, looking at it carefully as Ganbri held it out. "Do you think there were Time Lords here?"

Ganbri shrugged his shoulders. "Someone who liked to make things anyway."

"I guess if it were a Time Lord, it would probably look better," she added thoughtfully. "My dad could probably make one better than that."

"Well, we  _are_  in a jungle," he answered, feeling slightly defensive of the little thing. "It's not like there are a lot of mechanic shops around here." No matter how shabby it was, it was something familiar and so he liked it. Besides, it was obviously very useful to whoever had owned it judging by the marks of wear all over it. You don't use something that often if it doesn't work well.

He didn't know what it was about the strange little thing that had driven him to steal from an animal as massive as the ghorex. Some part of him that still spoke with a very small child's voice wondered if the ghorex would let him trade it back for Jack.

Time ticked by. Minutes felt like hours and the silence of the jungle around them pressed on his ears like a scream. Annie grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight.

He kept thinking that he should go looking for Jack, but he also knew he couldn't leave Annie alone up in the tree. He got up and carefully walked along the branch, stretching out as far as he dared to get different views of the area around him. What if Jack was just at the base of the tree and was too tired to climb up? What if he was hiding just a little ways off?

He leaned a little further, stretching his hand out against another nearby branch, causing the small device he held to push into his palm. A high-pitched and extremely loud buzzing sound filled the air, like a million angry insects. Annie shouted and covered her ears while Ganbri lost his balance and almost fell from the tree.

"Turn it off!" Annie shouted at him. "What is that!?"

He flipped the thing over in his hands, wincing at the horrible noise it made, until he found the switch he'd activated and turned it off. Even with the noise stopped, Ganbri felt like he could still hear it buzzing angrily in his head.

"Mum and Dad might have heard that," Annie said, glancing hopefully out at the trees. "Maybe they'll find us?"

"Yeah," Ganbri agreed quietly. But who else had heard?

Trees began moving a short distance off. They weren't bending beneath the weight of something monstrous, but the leaves swayed back and forth as if something small and quick were rushing past.

Ganbri's hearts beat a little faster. Was it J.J.?

Then he saw more movement and realized that whatever was moving towards them was being followed. Ganbri stretched forward again, squinting desperately at the moving foliage for a glimpse of something in between.

It was just a flash, but it was enough—bronze skin with patches of golden brown fur.

"It's him!" Ganbri announced happily. "It's Jack! He's coming!"

"Where!?" Annie jumped up at his side, leaning over dangerously far to get a good look.

Whatever was chasing Jack wasn't as fast, and he was quickly gaining distance. He should make it to the tree safely. All the same, Ganbri caught himself holding his breath.

Then suddenly he was there, scrambling up the branches as though he'd done it a thousand times before. J.J. had begun to lose his "baby fur" as he called it in the last couple of months, but whatever running and chasing he'd been doing had definitely sped up the process. There was noticeably less fur than before and there were even a couple of tufts clinging to his shorts as he moved.

Ganbri wasn't sure what he expected to happen when Jack got to the top, but it wasn't for him to grab Annie's hand and start running down the branch. Ganbri scrambled after him, glancing over his shoulder to try to catch a glimpse at what they were running from.

"There's someone down there!" J.J. said between gasps for breath. "Some woman. She tried to take me, tried to make me lead her to you guys. I was hiding where she couldn't reach me, but I couldn't leave."

They had run clear across the tree and were nearing the ends of the branches on the other side. Ganbri began to feel nervous but he trusted in Jack's instincts and followed him anyway. Those golden eyes scanned the branches carefully and then he switched direction, pulling Annie behind him with Ganbri bringing up the rear.

The branches creaked threateningly as they crossed but did not break. They were able to jump to the next tree.

"As soon as I heard that sound, I knew it had to be you guys," J.J. continued. "I think she did too. She left me alone and started moving towards you."

"Who is she?" Ganbri asked, looking back again to see the swaying of branches behind him. "What does she want?"

"Ganbri, turn that thing on again!" Annie called out suddenly. "Mum will hear it!"

It was tricky to follow the perilous path that J.J. was taking them down and to play about with the device in his hands, but Ganbri managed it. He flicked the switch, and that terribly annoying sound roared through the trees again. Uncle Shaun had been teaching him a bit about Morse code, so he flicked the switch in an S.O.S. rhythm as he leapt from one tree to the next.

A moment later, he could hear Banni's screwdriver answering.

J.J. changed directions slightly, taking them over thinner and thinner branches. He could hear branches snapping in the trees behind them and was sure that J.J. was trying to pick ones that weren't quite big enough to support an adult's weight.

"Ganbri!"

That was Tokrah's voice, closer than where Banni's screwdriver was sounding off from. He didn't have to say anything before J.J. changed direction again.

"I see them!" That was Uncle Jack.

J.J. couldn't help himself at that point. He was a brave little kid and Ganbri really believed that he could do just about anything, but he got scared too. As soon as J.J. heard Uncle Jack's voice, a tiny, frightened sounding whimper escaped him and he slowed down.

Getting down from the trees was not nearly as easy as climbing up had been, but at least they weren't in as much danger of falling. Ganbri looked up as he scurried down and caught sight of the woman chasing them. She was very dirty and covered in leaves and things, which made it hard to see her properly, but he could tell that she was built to run. Probably built to fight too.

They reached the ground to see Tokrah and Uncle Jack running towards them. J.J. held Annie's hand and pulled her behind him until they were only a few feet away, then abruptly let go of her and jumped up onto Uncle Jack instead. It wasn't until Ganbri saw the way he quivered slightly or breathed so hard that he realized J.J. was close to crying. It was really hard to remember how little he was sometimes.

"What happened?" Tokrah's voice boomed.

Ganbri and Annie were quickly pushed behind the two adults and Ganbri watched the way their eyes scanned the trees expertly. Jack held J.J. protectively against his chest with one arm and held a gun raised and ready with the other. Tokrah's knees were bent as though he were ready to pounce on something and he had a wicked looking curved knife in each hand.

Ganbri didn't remember seeing them bring any weapons off the TARDIS.

J.J. blurted out a rushed explanation of being chased by some woman in between gasps for air. Uncle Jack patted his back a couple of times and his hand came away with a clump of fur between his fingers. Ganbri felt a nauseating wave of anger roll off of him after that and he cocked his gun.

"These your kids?" a voice called out to them from the trees. "Got to say, kind of a dangerous place to let them run around, isn't it?"

"What's it to you?" Jack shouted back, his back stiffening.

"Ohh, the angry papa-bear type," the voice replied teasingly. "I kinda like that."

"Lady, this one papa-bear you're not gonna like, I promise you that."

Tokrah held out one hand, touching Uncle Jack gently on the arm before moving back into his defensive position. "No harm's been done yet," he said clearly and with a measure of calm. "You can leave now. We won't come after you."

She laughed, and it was a light, almost magical sound. "You say these things as if I've done something wrong." She appeared then, looking down at them between two tall branches with eyes like glowing emeralds. "I saw a bunch of kids alone in the jungle, being chased by a ghorex and I was supposed to, what, just stand by? I found that little one by himself and he ran from me and hid under a bunch of rocks. I told him I just wanted to help. Said I'd help him find his parents if he just told me where the other kids were hiding."

"I don't know her," J.J. hissed quietly. "She chased me."

"When you have your teeth," Jack answered him in a whisper, still holding his gun at the ready. "No one will ever chase you again."

But Tokrah looked less certain. His knives had lowered slightly, though his eyes were more aware than ever.

"Shall I come down?" the woman asked next. She sounded like she thought this whole thing was great fun, with the ghost of a laugh in her voice with every sentence.

"Come down," Tokrah answered quietly.

She bowed to him gracefully from her perch in the branches and then swung her leg down. Where Ganbri and the others had climbed down, she simply slid as easily and controlled as though she'd been doing it her entire life and landed on the ground with barely a sound.

"Quite the diverse little family you two have got," she said casually, picking leaves from her golden hair as she stepped towards them and gesturing towards J.J. with her chin. "I like your youngest; he's got spirit."

Now that he could see her in the light, Ganbri could see that she was quite pretty. She wasn't very tall, but she was lean and covered with clearly defined muscle. Her blonde hair was long and shiny, but her fingernails were short and dirty, and she wore a tool belt along with her makeup.

Tokrah said nothing, but Ganbri felt a shift in his emotions. His arms relaxed a little more, but his back stiffened. He stared at the woman intently, but he still didn't speak.

"Your other boy's got something of mine though," she said cheerfully, leaning forward on her knees a bit to get a good look Ganbri. He suddenly felt very small and childish, hiding behind his father's legs. He grabbed Annie's hand so that he it would look like he was protecting her instead of hiding.

"Hello, Champ," she said with a shining smile. "That little toy you found? I made that. I was actually following that animal, waiting for a time to sneak it back. Give that back to me and we all can leave happy."

"Ganbri, what is it?" Tokrah asked him quietly, trying to look over his shoulder without looking away from the woman. "Is it a weapon?"

"It's a . . ." Ganbri turned the device over and over in his hands. "I think it's a sonic screwdriver."

"That's right," the woman said warmly. "Clever little man, aren't you?"

"What's your name?" Tokrah spoke suddenly, his voice a little softer than before.

She stood up straight and eyed Tokrah carefully. "Why should I tell you?"

"My name is Harry," Tokrah answered, lowering his knives as far down as his hips now. He nudged Uncle Jack with his elbow until he reluctantly followed his lead and lowered the gun. "This is my son, Ganbri. This is my friend Jack Harkness and his ward, J.J., and this girl is my friend's daughter, Annabelle. The rest of our group is not far off, including Ganbri's other father. Most people know him as the Doctor."

The woman's eyes flicked to Ganbri immediately, then to the device he held in his hands. "How do you know what a sonic screwdriver is?" she asked in a whisper.

"My . . . my dad has one," Ganbri answered nervously. He kept looking up to Tokrah for a sign, not sure what he was supposed to do. He reached out with his mind, but Tokrah's head was blocking him out and anything he could get was a confusing cloud of emotions.

He reached out to the woman instead and found that tapping into her head was far simpler than it should have been. His mind slipped into hers with the same sort of ease and familiarity that he expected with his parents, not a stranger, and, in her mind, he found breathless excitement.

The trees rustled behind them and Ganbri knew without looking that Banni, Donna, and Shaun had finally joined them. There was a brief second of silence while Tokrah put his knives away, tucked beneath his shirt where they couldn't be seen.

And then Auntie Donna loudly blurted out, "Jenny!?"

Tokrah smirked and looked back over his shoulder. Ganbri looked back too and saw the way Banni's eyes had widened to an enormous size and his mouth had dropped open slightly.

"Doctor," Tokrah said calmly. "I believe we've found your daughter."


	13. 2022 - Little White Lie

** 2022 **

Ganbri didn't cry when he fell from the horse. He didn't even scream. He was a tough kid.

Harry felt a little less tough.

"It's so  _gross_!" Ganbri exclaimed, pulling up his shirt sleeve again for another good look. "Dad, seriously, look at it! Ugh!"

"Yes, I saw it, thank you." He gently pulled Ganbri's hand away to allow the sleeve to fall down again.

"I bet you can't ever use it again," J.J. blurted with a little too much enthusiasm. "I bet they have to cut it cut off and you'll just have a little stump on your shoulder."

"That's enough," Jack chided the boy. "At most, it would be a stump at his elbow."

Harry rolled his eyes towards Jack to glare at him, but the American simply shrugged his shoulders and grinned at him. If it was an attempt to make him feel better . . . well, it only worked a little bit.

The break was halfway between the elbow and wrist, and the skin was barely holding the jagged bone beneath it. Sometimes, when Ganbri moved, Harry could see the skin stretch and whiten a little further over the sharp point and it made an odd sense of panic rise in him. He'd told Ganbri a hundred times to sit still, but that was a tall order for an eleven-year-old.

"Banni could fix it easily," Ganbri said, twisting his neck to get a look at the break again. "I don't know why we don't just wait for him to come back."

"He won't be back for another two days," Harry explained yet again. "We're not leaving your arm like that for two days."

"Then let me fix it." Ganbri's skin began to glow bright gold before he'd even finished saying the sentence.

"Don't you dare!" Harry barked at him. "If you mess that up, you could be stuck with it for the rest of your life!"

The light flickered and faded and Ganbri slumped back in his seat with an annoyed sigh. "You could just let me try."

Harry let his head thump back against the wall behind him, sighing heavily. It was things like that that made it impossible to take Ganbri to a proper hospital, where he might be seen to a little quicker. As it was, with his tendency to light himself up with any excuse and with J.J.'s habit of blurting things about alien planets made it barely possible to take the two out in public. But they had been promised a weekend away to Scotland for hiking and horseback riding.

It had been the Doctor's idea that they all take a little trip together while he was away on his mission. The Doctor wanted Harry to bond with Jenny so much that he was beginning to force it a little. There was nothing wrong with Jenny. Harry actually did like her quite a bit. He just had a hard time getting comfortable around someone that he knew he would threaten to kill one day.

To be fair, she beat the hell out of him afterwards, but he was still the one who put a gun to her spine.

This Jenny had no idea that any of that was going to happen. As far as she knew, she was just bonding with her newly expanded family while her father was away. She still looked perfectly happy as she stood off in the corner, making hot drinks for everyone.

Jack had been the saving grace, really. Harry had said it would be nice for Ganbri if J.J. came along, but he really just wanted another adult to speak to when things got a bit too awkward. Despite the way he shamelessly flirted with Jenny at times, Jack was good company and had made the trip more bearable.

Harry tried his best to return it when she smiled at him so pleasantly as she walked back towards them with her small tray of drinks.

"Two hot chocolates," she announced, holding the tray low enough that the boys could grab theirs.

"Thank you, Miss Jenny," J.J. answered politely, nudging Ganbri with his elbow to remind the other boy to give his thanks as well.

"One coffee, sugar, no cream."

"Thanks, gorgeous," Jack said with a wink.

"And one tea, with a bit of both."

Harry accepted his with a nod of his head. "Thanks, Jenny."

Every time she did something nice, all Harry could think about was the way her back had stiffened when he pushed a barrel to it, or the cold look in her eyes when she disarmed him a moment later. She was so warm and friendly now that it was hard to believe that an icy killer hid behind that smile.

It was hard to believe how like her father she was.

"Fine, don't look at it," Ganbri suddenly said with a tone of disgust as he pulled his sleeve down right to his wrist. "God, Dad, you look like you're gonna puke."

Jenny started talking but Harry found it hard to listen. She captivated the boys with whatever story she was telling, finally succeeded in making them sit still. Ganbri's arm stayed in place with bone shards firmly beneath the skin and Jack had a chance to absentmindedly pull loose clumps of fur from Nista's arms and neck. The kid was growing fast—his fur was almost completely gone and his teeth were just beginning to peek out from beneath his lip.

"Hello?"

The voice made the whole group jump, too focused on conversation to pay attention to surroundings. The dreary, underground base was empty and quiet enough that it came as a bit of a shock to find anyone else there.

"Are you Harry?" the woman asked next.

Harry stared at her, transfixed for a moment at her familiarity. Before he was able to find his tongue, Jack rose to his feet.

"Captain Jack Harkness; how do you do?" He offered his hand and a small clump of fur fell from his sleeve and drifted awkwardly through the silence. But the woman was gracious and pretended not to notice when she accepted his hand.

_ Grace _ . That was her name.

"Dr. Holloway," Harry muttered in surprise as he rose to his feet.

"Oh, I haven't been Dr. Holloway for years!" she answered with a nervous chuckle. "It's Gillard now. Sorry, do I know you?"

"No," Harry recovered quickly, standing up straighter and hurriedly shaking her hand. "I've just known the Doctor long enough to be familiar with your story. I'm Harold Mott."

He found it hard to stop staring at her. Her hair was peppered with grey and there were deepening wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, but she was still so very beautiful. Despite what time had done to her features, she didn't look any older to Harry. He wondered if the Doctor had thought of her lately, or if he knew where she was. Would he come see her if he did?

Ganbri was looking at him strangely. Harry felt a gentle, questioning push in the back of his mind and quickly swatted it away. This was definitely none of the kid's business.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Doctor," Jack said with his best charming smile. "But we were expecting Martha Jones."

"Of course," Grace smiled kindly. "Martha and I work together with this operation. I was actually just coming here to catch up on some things and Martha mentioned that you'd be here, waiting. She shouldn't be too much longer. I'm a doctor too, though—a surgeon actually. I can take a look to get you started."

"I broke my arm," Ganbri blurted, holding his arm out with the sleeve pulled back again. "How do you know my dad?"

Grace looked taken aback, that nervous smile returning again. Harry wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but Grace spoke first.

"Your dad?" she asked somewhat awkwardly and halfway between gesturing towards Harry and pretending not to.

Ganbri caught the gesture and nodded towards Harry. "Well, yeah,  _he_ knows you, but I mean my other dad."

Grace's eyes widened slightly.

"His other dad is the Doctor," J.J. offered helpfully. "But everybody calls him John. He's Jenny's dad too, but Harry isn't. But Harry and John are married so that makes Harry her . . . what is it?"

"Stepfather," Jack answered quietly.

"Stepfather," J.J. finished solemnly.

It didn't help make things any less awkward, but Harry knew that part of J.J. was proud of himself. He'd been working really hard lately to be comfortable speaking around women. The boy was making a lot of progress, but it meant that sometimes he said too much.

"Well," Grace's eyebrows rose so high that they disappeared beneath her hair and she smiled. " _That_  explains a few things."

"Why?" Ganbri asked, with a tone of accusation in his voice. "Were you his girlfriend?"

"Ganbri!"

"What? I know Dad had girlfriends. It's not a big deal."

"It's really not," J.J. added, trying to sound sympathetic. "If he broke up with you, it's not because you're a lady. He likes ladies and not-ladies. He likes everybody. I asked him and he said so."

Grace's smile simply spread, doing her best to look as though none of this bothered her. "How about we just take a look at that arm?"

The next twenty minutes passed with relative calm. Grace x-rayed the arm and the boys were too fascinated with the ability to see Ganbri's bones to cause any trouble. Harry felt his stomach begin to roll again when she was pointing out the specifics in the break, and Jenny was there to offer a pat on his arm and a sympathetic smile. Grace explained how she was going to set the arm and that it would hurt, and went about preparing.

It was then that Jack did a very stupid thing.

He spoke.

"So how is it you know Martha?"

"Oh, nothing too exciting really," Grace said with a shrug. "You heard about all that mess with Prime Minister Saxon and the Valiant, right? Well, I was running one of those support groups that they had for survivors. I wasn't on the Valiant, but I was familiar with the man who called himself Saxon."

Harry felt his hearts speed up a little. Jack's eyes glanced over at him, realizing his mistake. Harry crossed his arms, resting his chin in his hand, trying to hide as much of his face as possible as Grace continued chatting.

"It's a crazy story, but that's actually how I met the Doctor. Saxon was an old enemy of his, except he used a different name and his face looked different back then."

That caught Ganbri's attention. Changing faces usually meant Time Lords, and Ganbri always wanted to know about Time Lords. The Doctor never told him much, and always seemed displeased when Harry spoke about home around him, which only left Ganbri more curious than ever.

"You know, now that I think about it, Harry, you actually loo—"

She froze. She looked at him and froze, mid-sentence. Grace was a smart woman. He'd learned as much when she helped the Doctor overthrow him and destroy his body. She knew that Harold Saxon was actually the Master, and she knew that the "Harry" in front of her looked just like him and had a connection with the Doctor.

His eyes widened in panic. Ganbri noticed. J.J. noticed. Jenny noticed. And then Grace noticed how panicked he looked and cleared her throat as though she had only stopped talking due to an itch.

"But I'm sure you hear that all the time," she continued. She looked him up and down again, confirming what she already knew. "I like the boots."

He knew what she was looking for, and he obliged. "Well, we were horseback riding. I always dress for the occasion."

Her eyes widened a bit and she sucked in some air a little too fast. "Well, I think we're just about ready here," she said to Ganbri as cheerfully as she could, putting down her tools and walking towards Harry. "Before we get started, let me just have a word with your dad for a second, okay?"

She took him by the elbow and he quickly turned to walk with her so that it didn't look quite so much like she was dragging him out. Odd looks were exchanged by the kids and Jack made some kind of cheeky joke as they left the room, and he only hoped that they were all still as naïve as they thought they were.

Once they were safely around the corner and behind closed doors, Grace slapped him. Hard.

"You're alive!?" she hissed at him, slapping again at his chest this time. "How are you still alive!? Why are you  _always_  alive!?"

He stood there, allowing her to slap at him once or twice more. "I suppose you could call it a talent of mine."

"Why aren't you dead?" she huffed angrily, eyes flashing. "Seriously?"

"Would you like the long answer or the short answer?"

"Short answer."

"Witchcraft."

"Bullshit!" she barked, thumping a fist into his chest again. She walked away a few paces, huffing and catching her breath, running her hands through her hair as she paced back and forth. Finally, she stopped moving and faced him, feet planted squarely on the ground, hands on her hips.

"Did you kill more people?" she asked sternly.

"Yes."

"Does your kid know that?"

"No."

"Great. So I get to either help a murderous psychopath, or let some poor kid know that his dad is a murderous psychopath."

"If it helps I haven't killed any—" He caught himself just in time. "Humans in a very long time."

"Oh, a  _retired_  murderous psychopath! My apologies!"

She paced back and forth a few more times, stopped, and stared at him again. She looked him up and down repeatedly, chewing her fingernails.

"Who knows?" she asked finally.

"The Doctor, obviously," he answered. "Martha. Captain Jack in there."

She pointed at the doors they came through in disbelief. "The guy who agreed to go horseback riding for the weekend with you knows that you've killed people?"

"Sure. I killed him about a hundred times." She looked at him oddly and he simply shrugged in return. "It's a long story." Then a thought occurred to him and he hurriedly added, "My stepdaughter doesn't know. I haven't known her very long and this weekend was sort of about getting to know each other."

She paused again, thinking and chewing at her finger. "Alright," she said after a moment. "Alright, so you're not killing people. You're not twitchy. You're not leaking goo. You're not all . . ." she gestured widely with her hands, giving a quick display of the flamboyance he once indulged in. "What happened?"

"I was crazy," he answered as honestly as he could. "I made my choices, yes, but I wasn't exactly the picture of good mental health either. The Doctor helped me get better and I started making different choices."

"Just like that?" she asked irritably.

"There was a somewhat difficult transitional period."

"And then he  _married_  you?"

"Gave me the ring and everything."

"And that's your kid?" she asked, getting louder, pointing at the door again. "With him?"

He pulled the collar of his shirt aside to reveal the scar hiding beneath. "Carried him myself."

Suddenly, all of her tension dropped as her eyes opened wide and her hands lunged forward to pull his shirt back further. "Oh, my god! That's  _fascinating_! How does it work?"

The door to the other side of them opened and Martha appeared. She was obviously startled, but recovered quickly, placing a firm scowl on her face and crossing her arms. "You work quickly, don't you?"

"Martha," he said, bowing his head slightly. "Nice to see you."

Grace had pulled her hands away from him but managed to do so without looking the slightest bit hurried or embarrassed. "Harry had just mentioned to me that he was able to carry his son himself," she said with a hint of excitement to her voice, gesturing towards his chest. "As in—"

"Yeah, he nearly bled to death and then went straight into battle like a moron," Martha interrupted. "They all nearly died, and I had to clean them up. And the bodies. The baby was cute though. Grew up to be pretty handsome as well. How old is he now?"

"Eleven."

"Does he know what you are yet?"

"No."

"And he has a broken arm," Grace added, stepping forward a bit so that her shoulder entered the space between Martha and Harry. "Which we should really be tending to so that he can get back to his weekend holiday with his family. Right?"

Martha glanced up at the older woman and some of her tension melted away reluctantly. "Right."

"Good," Grace smiled widely, showing off a perfect set of pearly whites as though she were preparing to pitch a sale. "Now, we raised some suspicions coming out here. How about we all smile, let our muscles relax, and enter the room as though we were all just having a nice, friendly chat? Hmm? How about we don't ruin any childhoods today?"

Martha nodded irritably. "Yeah, alright."

"Also, Harry is trying to make a good impression for his stepdaughter."

"Oh, my g—yeah, I get it!" Martha growled, stomping her foot irritably on the floor. "We all just pretend he's a totally normal person who hasn't done," she narrowed her eyes at him and hissed quietly. "All the things you've done."

"That's the idea," Grace said, slipping her voice into one of calming instruction. "Now we all take a big breath in . . ."

Everyone took a quick moment to compose themselves. Tense muscles were stretched out and relaxed, hair was readjusted, smiles were quickly practiced. Harry stood facing the door with a woman on either side of him, and breathed.

"You never called," Harry couldn't help saying quietly. "The Doctor was looking forward to that playdate."

"I never had kids," Martha answered gruffly.

"Really?"

"If I did, do you really think I would ever let a genocidal monster know about it?"

"Aaaaaand smile!" Grace said. She slipped her arm through Harry's, placing her other hand on the side of his upper arm and leaning towards him as though she were using him to partially hold herself up due to laughing. They strode through the doorway together, all smiling. Harry and Martha followed Grace's lead and began to chuckle too, as though they were still riding the humour of some witty punchline.

Ganbri and Jenny looked up as he re-entered the room. Their shoulders eased back. Their eyes relaxed. They smiled.

Everything was okay.


	14. 2023 - Infection

** 2023 **

"Harry."

It was barely even a whisper—a near silent stirring of the air—but it was enough to make Harry stop breathing for just a second. He glanced over at the mirror that stood in the corner of the room and saw her, hiding in the corner, staring back at him.

She never spoke to him.

Never.

At least, not if everyone was safe.

The Daughter's eyes glanced off to the side, towards the bathroom door. She said nothing else, but the sadness in her eyes said more than enough.

It was difficult not to run across the room. It was difficult not to simply break the door down. It was difficult to keep his hearts from leaping out of his throat. But, somehow, he managed it. He rose slowly from his bed and stepped, one foot after the other to the adjoining bathroom.

He glanced at the mirror once more before he reached for the door and found it empty. He closed his eyes, told himself that she would warn him ahead of time rather than too late, and grabbed the handle.

The Doctor's arms moved with a sudden start, followed immediately by something more slow and deliberate—the way one moves when they've been caught at something they shouldn’t be doing. The straight razor was returned to the countertop as casually as possible and a comb was picked up instead.

"Yes?" the Doctor said quietly, running the comb through his damp hair. He didn't turn around. He kept his eyes locked on the mirror in front of him, pretending he was focused on his hair, until he betrayed himself.

When the Doctor's reflection looked at Harry, its eyes were red and glimmering. Most of all, they were ashamed. He quickly looked away again and cleared his throat before reaching for a bottle of hair product.

"Lahrre," Harry whispered, noticing the way the word made the Doctor flinch just slightly. "Why do you hide from me?"

The Doctor tried to force himself to meet Harry's eyes again, but he couldn't stand the gaze for more than a second. "I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered in return, his voice thick and barely under his control. "Look, do you want something or not?"

Harry sighed and stepped forward, sliding his body in behind his husband. Brown eyes watched him warily in the mirror and every muscle in that lean body froze with uncertainty. Harry leaned in close, allowing his lips to brush against the Doctor's shoulder as he fit his body around the other, arms slipping around hips, hands drifting over damp flesh.

Here, he could see a teasing mark. The razor had pushed hard enough against his throat to leave a thin white line where the first layers of skin had parted. There were no scarlet beads in sight, but they were not far from surfacing.

He glanced in the mirror again, slowly moving his face to the side to press a kiss to the other Time Lord's neck. The Doctor's eyes moved to the side, desperately looking for somewhere where he wouldn't have to face the mirror. Harry felt him start to quiver slightly, like a frightened rabbit caught in a trap.

Wordlessly, Harry reached out a hand and took up the straight razor. The Doctor's eyes dared to glance at it for just a second before turning away again. He might look away, but Harry could see the tears well in his eyes again. And when he pressed the razor to the Doctor's throat, he could feel the way he swallowed down his shame.

"It's okay," Harry whispered to him, feeling hot tears rolling down to meet his lips when he kissed the side of his face. "Let me help."

He let his other hand rest over the Doctor's belly, gently pulling backwards to bring their bodies closer. He pressed against his husband's back, letting his body heat envelope him, letting the razor press dangerously close.

"I understand," he said, his eyes never moving from the mirror.

The faint trembling grew a little stronger and the Doctor's breathing grew a little louder, but those eyes still couldn't bear to look at him. "Harry," he barely managed to breathe out. The next words faltered with a shudder.

"I'll tell Ganbri and Jenny that it was an accident."

The Doctor's eyes snapped up at the names of his children, his back stiffening as he took a sharp intake of breath.

"Donna and Jack won't believe me, but maybe they'll understand too. Grandfather might believe it."

"Harry," he said again, with a little more strength to his voice.

"They know how hard it's been for you. I know."

He wasn't lying. He knew that this day would haunt the Doctor for years and no one could blame him for thinking twice about living for those years. Mistakes had been made, lives had been lost, and revenge had been taken—and it was hard to say which of the three would be the hardest for the Doctor to face.

It had started as a simple family day out. They took Ganbri and Jenny and set off for the 23rd century for what was intended to be some simple exploring and history lessons. But then they met the Campbells.

David Campbell, named after his grandfather, with his wife Marie. They had two sons, Jacob and Finn, with wolfish smiles and strong personalities. And they had a daughter, Lysa, who looked so much like the Doctor's granddaughter that it was stunning.

There was civil unrest following the Dalek invasion and, in a hundred years, it still had not fallen silent. A small but loud part of Earth's population believed that they would have been better off under Dalek rule and were determined to try to summon them back and ask for their leadership. The Campbells were part of the activist group against it, and they were first found at the small rallying grounds.

The Doctor said nothing to Jenny or Ganbri about the possibility that they had just met some of his own mostly-human descendants. Harry imagined that he thought there would be too many "greats" involved in the explanation to be bothered.

They were lovely people—open and friendly and passionate about their belief that the human race remain free of Dalek influence. Overall, it seemed that it was going to be a very good day.

But every cause has its fanatics, and it only takes one.

The bomber had set explosives all throughout the grounds and set them off, one at a time. He climbed on top of a stopped vehicle and shouted at the top of his lungs that salvation would come through the purifying touch of the Daleks while explosions continued going off in the fleeing crowds.

David had come armed with a small pistol. With his family taking cover behind him, he took aim and told the Doctor that he had a clean shot. But the Doctor asked him not to pull the trigger.

"If we put him down, then we're no better. I can stop him. I can get everyone out of here safe," the Doctor had said, giving them all a smile of confidence. "Trust me."

While David maintained his position, Jenny began to move to another advantageous spot. Harry took Ganbri to a third, the three of them ready to neutralize the threat should the man flee. And the Doctor marched right up to him, with all of his swagger and smiles and bluffs. He spoke quickly and with confidence, talking circles around the frightened young man with the trigger in his hand.

Then the Doctor gave him choices. Slowly, carefully, he explained the young man's choices. He told him that he could still be a good man—that he could walk away and everything could be worked out.

It seemed like it would work, and everyone relaxed slightly as the young man thought silently on the Doctor's words.

"There's something I have to do first," the man said slowly. "Just one thing."

The Doctor smiled kindly at him, daring another small step towards him. "Okay . . . What do you have to do?"

And the bastard smiled. "Exterminate."

The explosion went off right behind where the Campbells had been hiding.

Harry could hear them screaming from his own position. He watched as the ground gave way and opened to the tunnels beneath.

The Doctor chose to run to them instead of chasing the bomber. He leapt at the edge of the crumbling ground and caught the hand of someone who was falling. Harry never saw who it was. He only heard the crying and pleading and the shouts from the Doctor telling them to hold on.

Then there was a scream.

Then there was silence.

And as the Doctor stared down into the pit with wide eyes, Harry heard something start to snarl in the back of his mind.

Harry swore under his breath as another explosion went off. As long as the bomber was loose, they weren't safe simply hiding as they were. But, with how quickly that snarl was becoming deafening, the bomber would not be loose for long.

"Jenny!" he screamed over the roar. She was already chasing the bomber, quick on her feet and keeping her eyes open, but she stopped at Harry's call. "Get to the pit!"

As morbid as it was, there wouldn't be another bomb hidden in the pit that had been opened. Another explosion could happen anywhere, except where they'd already happened. Other people had gotten the same idea and were beginning to crowd around the gaping hole, trying not to get too close to the crumbling edge.

The Doctor walked out from the frightened gathering with his eyes blazing with rage.

"Lahrre," Harry said with a warning tone, grabbing the Doctor's arm when he reached him. But the Doctor didn't even look at him. He simply ripped his arm free and kept walking.

It was too late. The deafening growl was already too loud for Harry’s words to reach him. The anger was too thick for his thoughts to get through. In a matter of seconds, the Doctor that he knew and loved was gone. And something else was in his place.

Harry couldn't stop the Doctor without putting Jenny and Ganbri at risk, so he turned and ran with them to the pit. He found a place behind some rubble so that Ganbri wouldn't be able to see what was about to happen and they sat close together on the ground.

There were a couple more explosions and then the air split apart with the sound of roaring. Harry didn't know how the Beast had freed itself from its chamber or from the TARDIS, but he had suspected for a while that the Doctor might have prepared for it to be able to do so if needed.

The Beast's snarl caused the cowering crowds to grab at their heads and cry out, suddenly paralyzed with fear, but it didn't last long. The Beast roared and the bomber screamed and then there was silence, but for the sound of meat tearing and bones cracking.

"What happened?" Ganbri asked, sounding fearful and breathless. "Did the bombs stop?"

Jenny looked past the rubble shielding their view and Harry watched her turn a shade paler. "I think so," she answered quietly, unable to tear her eyes away for a moment. "We'd best stay here for another minute. Just to make sure."

After that Ganbri seemed too distracted by the smoking hole in the ground to notice the sounds of a man being eaten not far away. Harry felt the emotions rolling off his son, and they were all of shock and loss at the sudden death of their new friends.

Eventually, the Beast fell silent too, its meal clearly over. Its claws could be heard clicking on the ground as it made its way back to the TARDIS with a quiet, satisfied groan. And then the Doctor appeared beside them. Harry looked up just in time to see him wipe a drop of blood off of his face.

"Let's go."

Now they were in the bathroom, before the mirror, and the Doctor had had time to reflect. He'd been able to think on his choices and, no doubt, had come to the conclusion that his foolish determination to avoid killing had put him at fault for the deaths of a dozen innocent people. By telling David not to shoot, he had unknowingly sealed his fate.

It was a high probability that the Campbells had not been related to the Doctor at all, and that there had simply been a couple of odd coincidences. But they would never know, and that didn't matter anymore. They were kind people— _good_  people—and the Doctor had asked them to trust him. Five minutes later, the Campbells were all dead and the Doctor had unleashed a vicious killing machine in a fit of rage in front of his children.

So Harry understood why the Doctor couldn't bring himself to look in the mirror now. He understood why his husband had held a razor to his own throat and thought that the universe might be better without him. And he understood exactly what he needed to say.

"Ask me to do it."

The Doctor's eyes finally moved towards the glass and met Harry's reflection. He held his breath for a moment, thinking carefully.

Harry tightened his grip on the razor's handle and promised. "I'll do what you want."

And then, as expected, he felt the Doctor's mind approach his own and a gentle warmth crept its way in. He suspected that Harry was lying, or distracting him, or tricking him. He was right, in a way.

When the Doctor's consciousness slipped into his own, it was met with a sea of memories. Dark locks of hair drifted through the air as they experienced their first, proper kiss in the TARDIS's kitchen. The air was filled with the sounds of violins and the colours of moving dancers during the first moment the Doctor admitted to himself that he was falling in love. Heat flushed their skin and hearts skipped beats as they passed the memory of their first night together. They were filled with a pure and boundless joy as Harry remembered lying in bed as a very emotional Doctor introduced him to their newly born son.

Time Lords see time differently. They don't remember something as though they are looking at a photograph. They  _live_  the memory again. It was for that reason that Harry knew, staring into the mirror, that the tears he saw now were those of happiness.

He thought of Ganbri's first words and first steps. He thought of Saturday mornings spent in bed and projects finished together. He thought of all those memories so great and so tiny that meant the world to him. He thought of long looks and quietly spoken words and cups of tea that held far too much significance for something so simple. All the screaming and snarling and sounds of bones crunching in the world were not enough to be heard over the sea of laughter and music that flowed through their minds.

He thought of those things and, staring at the watery reflection of his husband's eyes, whispered softly, "Ask me to do it."

The Doctor cleared his throat again, glancing around the room for a moment to compose himself. Then he looked into the mirror and stared right back at Harry.

"Go on then," he said clearly, pointing a finger at the underside of his chin. "I missed a spot."

Harry grinned and carefully scraped the blade along the delicate flesh, shaving away a few stubbly hairs. "Better?"

The Doctor quickly grabbed the razor from his hand and put it down on the countertop. "Yes, thank you," he answered, turning the sink on and scooping water in his hands to rinse the tears from his face. "What do you want to do for dinner tonight?"

Harry shrugged, watching as the Doctor went about washing his face as though nothing of the least importance had just happened. "Don't really feel like cooking tonight. Pizza?"

The Doctor stood up, clearing his throat once more to return his voice to normal. He reached a hand out and Harry handed him a towel. He took a moment to dry his face before standing up straight and observing himself in the mirror. To Harry, it was like watching him turn into a completely different person.

"Pizza sounds good."


	15. 2024 - Call of the Wild

** 2024 **

Ganbri couldn't get up. His fingers hurt. His elbows hurt. His knees hurt. There was blood in his mouth. There was blood in his nose. There were spots in his eyes. His muscles shook when he pushed his hands beneath his body and tried to lift.

But that stupid, stupid smile.

"Need some help?"

J.J.'s teeth had grown enough that the pointed ends gleamed in the bright lights, like another pair of eyes leering at him. His fur had all vanished over the summer, but the black locks on top of his head had grown long enough to be tied back and out of the way. A single curl had escaped and dangled next to his golden eyes, swaying back and forth from his heavy breathing.

"Shut up," he grunted in return, trying to push himself up again.

"Boys," Declan's voice said sternly. "Time for a break."

"You heard the man," the Alreesh said with infuriating cockiness. He stood up straight, swinging his wooden staff round to rest over the backs of his shoulders. He took a few slow steps around the room, hands resting on the ends of his staff, eyes watching Ganbri eagerly. Like a cat watching the mouse bleed out.

"I'm fine," Ganbri insisted, giving another stubborn push against the ground. He managed to raise himself up to his knees. He huffed a few times, wiping the blood from his nose and pretending he was only wiping away sweat. "See?" he croaked.

Declan stepped closer, blue eyes shining with concern. "No, you guys are taking this too far. Ganbri, you're not even supposed to be taking these lessons. How are you going to explain all your bruises to your parents?"

"He's not taking lessons!" J.J. protested quickly. "I don't see an instructor here."

"You're sparring."

"We're  _playing_."

"Hell of a way to play."

It gave Ganbri a few more moments to clamber up to his feet and attempt to look like he was managing himself. "Dex, you're human. It's cultural differences, that's all. This is how the Alreesh play. It would be disrespectful of me not to play the way that Jack does. My dad is always saying that we need to be sensitive to other cultures, right?"

"You're bleeding," Declan answered bluntly. "Blood means playtime is over. Put those things away."

Jack grinned. "Sure thing, boss."

Ganbri knew what was coming and was prepared. He was a little slower and exhaustion made it difficult to have the strength to block the blow, but staff met staff, and another bruising impact was avoided a mere inch from his shoulder.

"Nista!" Declan barked angrily.

"I was just trying to help him up and I slipped!"

"Cut the shit!"

J.J. straightened his back and lowered his staff. "Yes, sir."

Declan didn't usually swear. When he did, it meant that it was time to listen. The Irishman returned to his desk without looking back, knowing that this time he would be obeyed.

From everyone's best estimates, J.J. was only eleven years old, while Ganbri was thirteen. Despite that, J.J. was growing up faster. He had traded his baby fur for fangs and his body was slowly changing shape from the odd proportions of a child to that of a young man. Ganbri could see clearly defined muscles in his arms and chest and, last time their height had been measured, J.J. was half an inch taller than he was.

Banni and Tokrah had both assured Ganbri that it was simply because Alreesh matured at a younger age. J.J. may be taller now but, when were they properly grown men, he would be well below average height.

Ganbri didn't care.

His own arms were still scrawny, lacking the ability to pack on muscle the way J.J.'s did. That only meant that he had to work harder to catch up. J.J. was receiving proper combat training while Ganbri was forbidden from lessons. That only meant that he would have to turn everyday activities into exercises and challenges, and sneak in a sparring session or lesson where he could. J.J. was naturally talented with almost any weapon while Ganbri struggled to learn. That just meant he would have to practice at every possible chance.

J.J. was his best friend and, in many ways, a brother. That meant that Ganbri had to beat him at all costs.

"Good block," J.J. said, once they had made it to the far side of the room. "If you'd managed that a couple more times, you might still look pretty."

Ganbri dropped himself onto the small wooden bench against the wall and snatched up the water bottle he'd left there. While he drank greedily, Jack calmly wiped down his staff. The bastard wasn't even winded or thirsty. He was barely even sweating.

"It's fine," Ganbri said when he pulled the bottle away from his mouth. "You could beat my face in all day long and I'd still look better than you. I figure it's just fair to let you smack me around a little bit."

J.J. grinned, his lips pulling back and making his fangs look that much longer.

"Where's Uncle Jack?"

"Oxford," J.J. answered, laying his staff against the wall and picking up Ganbri's to clean it for him. "Checking out a couple of weird reports about a dead guy appearing and disappearing."

"Ghost stories?"

"I don't know," he sighed with a shrug. "I think he just wanted something to do. He's bored."

"Bored?"

"Yeah. All this," J.J. gestured around the room. "It's boring."

They were sitting in the empty concrete space of what would one day be the heart of Torchwood's operations. They arrived through a teleport set up at Jack's house so Ganbri wasn't even entirely sure where they were, just that they were underground.

So far, the base had just been supplied with a few random pieces of furniture and lights. The empty, abandoned feeling always left an impression of cold and damp, and the occasional sound that echoed from down in the tunnels made it seem haunted. Declan's work station sat in complete contrast to all of that—warm wood desk, comfortable looking chair, buzzing electronics, and one of the fanciest looking computers Ganbri had ever seen on Earth.

Banni had been going on missions a lot lately, which meant Ganbri got to go to Torchwood all the time while his Tokrah was at work. Uncle Jack, or in this case, Declan, was "babysitting" him. What that really meant was that Jack or Declan would sit at that desk, writing code and goodness knew what else for hours at a time, while J.J. and Ganbri ran around and did whatever they wanted.

At first, they just explored, but empty rooms and tunnels get boring real quick. They started using the furniture and boxed up equipment to make obstacle courses and make attempts at learning parkour. Jack eventually brought down some gym equipment and spent some time instructing them on how to safely use it all, that they might begin the first steps towards "being ready". Once J.J. started getting actual combat lessons, they used the space and time to spar with each other, so that Ganbri might also learn.

"Hey, Dex!" Ganbri shouted across the room. "You're underground, singlehandedly rebuilding the roots of a legendary organization to protect the entire human race while in the room with two genuine extra-terrestrial beings. How does that make you feel?"

"Bored," Declan answered calmly, not looking away from his computer screen as he took a long sip of coffee.

"You could always spar with us," Jack offered with a grin.

"You kids are maniacs," Declan answered with a sigh and a shake of his head. "I wouldn't fight either of you, even if you had your hands tied." He went back to typing, fingers moving so fast that it was difficult to keep track of.

It didn't look like much, camped out in the damp and dim of their cavern, but one day this place would be amazing. Ganbri wanted to be ready for that day.

While his sore muscles settled down to quietly complain and he held a pack of ice against his swelling lip, Ganbri set to work on his newest project. Of all the weapons he'd done a little bit of training with, the staff was his favourite, even if J.J. could still whip him with it.

He'd done a bit of digging in one of the TARDIS's many junk rooms and found an old staff filled with all kinds of wires and gadgets to toy around with. He had no idea what the staff's original purpose had been, but the remains of it had inspired him to make his favourite weapon an enormous Swiss Army knife.

Time Lord technology was far more complex than what he was used to working with, but he had a good grasp of the basic concepts and he had J.J. to help him. Together, they had been working to make the staff bigger on the inside. They had a list of things they would add once there was space but, for now, they had to make it possible.

"Do your parents know that you plan to join Torchwood?" J.J. asked him as they worked.

"Yeah," Ganbri answered, carefully using a pair of tweezers to place a microchip. "Well, I mean, they have to. What else would I do?"

"You talked about going to school for a while," the Alreesh answered as he laid out and cut the needed lengths of wire. "Engineering or something."

"Well, yeah. That too."

"You think you can do both?"

"Obviously."

"You don't have to, you know. You can just do your schooling. I can watch after Annie."

Ganbri paused. He shifted his eyes over and saw J.J. looking at him innocently, golden eyes blinking and waiting. Jack had a bad habit of just blurting things out like that—things that were a little too sensitive to mention at the drop of a hat.

"She can look after herself," he answered after a moment.

"Oh, sure. I know that," J.J. continued with his work and spoke casually. "But Torchwood is dangerous. Just about everyone in the last team died, and Jack says they were all really tough people. Everybody needs backup, even the toughest. That's why Jack and your dads are friends, right? I'm just saying that I can be her backup and you can go to school, like you want."

"And who's going to be your backup, idiot?"

J.J. shrugged. "It's okay if something happens to me."

Ganbri fumbled and dropped his tweezers. "Don't say that!" he hissed, looking up to meet Jack's eyes. "Geez, why would you say that?"

J.J. tilted his head to the side curiously. "What?"

Ganbri shook his head, retrieving his dropped tweezers and returning to his work. "I'm your backup, Jack. I'm always your backup."

There was a long moment of silence, in which he simply focused on the task before him. Then J.J. muttered, "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Another moment of silence, and the Alreesh cleared his throat. "Though if you're actually planning to join Torchwood, you've got a lot of work to do. I'm okay with the risks and all, but I don't wanna get killed because you don't know what you're doing."

Ganbri shot him a dirty look. "Excuse me?"

"You can't fight. You need training."

Part of Ganbri wanted to bark at him to shut up. Honestly, they'd just had some kind of bonding moment or something and J.J. wanted to ruin it by basically calling him useless? The kid had no tact at all.

Part of Ganbri thought that. And the other part thought he was right.

"My parents won't let me train like you."

J.J.'s golden eyes shone with amusement and his mouth quirked up in the corner, half smiling. Then he whipped his head around and called out, "Hey, Declan. Can you tell Ganbri what he should do if the computers start acting up?"

Declan momentarily pulled his coffee away from his lips and didn't even avert his eyes from the screen as he spoke. "Try turning it off and on again."

"Would you call that the first lesson in computer skills?"

Declan nodded slightly. "Computer 101."

"There," J.J. turned back to Ganbri, grinning. "You're coming here for computer lessons from Declan."

Ganbri couldn't help but smirk when he half-heartedly protested. "They're gonna know."

J.J. suddenly shot his hand out, poking Ganbri's tender and swollen jaw with his finger, causing the older boy to flinch. It felt like it was already bruising, and he could still taste some blood in his mouth.

"Ganbri," J.J. said with a shake of his head. "They already know."


	16. 2025 - Valentine's Day

** 2025 **

Harry knew he probably should have expected something like this. The Doctor's hints about having a baby had been less like hints and more like nagging for a few months now.

And today was Valentine's Day.

He sighed and rolled over in his bed, contemplating staying there for a while instead of getting up. The Doctor was gone and his side of the bed was already cold. That was nothing new, but the smell cinnamon and the sounds of paper being hurriedly crumpled and manipulated was what had tipped Harry off.

The Doctor was busy in the kitchen, cooking some kind of treat and frantically trying to finish whatever gift or gesture he had forgotten to get around to until that morning.

Harry considered getting up right then and going downstairs, spoiling the Doctor's surprise and teaching him not to procrastinate so much, but decided against it. They'd never really bothered too much with Valentine's Day before and he was curious to see what the Doctor had put together. He did  _really_  want that baby.

Tape was pulled and broken. The Doctor's mutterings as he worked drifted up the stairway, along with the occasional curse when something went wrong. Timers beeped and were ignored for too long. A little more cursing. A few gasps that sounded like he'd probably touched something hot without gloves on.

Harry shook his head and rolled over towards the bedroom door. "Doctor?" he called out.

There was brief pause, during which Harry was certain the Doctor looked like a deer in headlights, followed by an innocent sounding "Yes?"

"What's all the noise?"

"Nothing! The cat's just gotten into the bin!"

They didn't have a cat. He waited.

"The neighbour's cat!" the Doctor suddenly called again. "Must've come in through the window. Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep!"

Harry grinned and closed his eyes. He must have drifted off again for a little while because he found himself opening eyes with lids too heavy a few moments later. The Doctor was in their bedroom, spreading something around on the carpet.

Harry kept his eyes mostly closed so that he could watch without being noticed for a moment. The Doctor wasn't wearing one of his usual suits. Instead, he dressed in a pair of jeans with no socks and a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tie forgotten. It was the way he tended to dress when they first had the TARDIS to themselves as a couple and they were too happy and distracted with other things to fuss much over their clothing. Harry had always liked the slightly lazy, more casual look on the Doctor and had said so many times, but he stubbornly stuck to his suits most days.

The Doctor finished whatever he was doing to the carpet and checked a mirror to make sure his hair had been perfectly styled in a way that made it look like he'd not touched it since he woke up.  _That_  was a concept that Harry had never quite understood, but he'd always found it a bit charming when the Doctor's hair was unkempt, so he wouldn't complain.

Moments later, he was alone again, listening to the Doctor bustling around downstairs. Harry knew it was his cue when the gentle sounds of an acoustic guitar, accompanied by a little soft piano, began to play just loud enough to have caught his attention if he was asleep. He gave it a couple of minutes, then climbed out of bed and slipped on his nicer black silk robe, tying it a little more loosely than usual.

He glanced at the carpet to find what, at first glance, looked like a trail of petals. Closer inspection showed that they were actually small, red, near heart-shaped leaves. The light salty smell coming from them immediately gave them away as the leaves of a tuliyan plant—a plant that grew on very few planets, one of which was Gallifrey.

Harry breathed in their scent deeply and it immediately reminded him of home. It was common practice to keep tuliyan plants in nurseries and the bedrooms of children as they were thought to help children breathe clearly and sleep better. The Doctor had chosen it deliberately to make Harry think of nurseries and children.

It didn't matter that it was morning and that the sunlight rather drowned out the effects of candlelight; the Doctor had lit candles everywhere anyway. They were unscented, so that the smell of the tuliyan wouldn't be overpowered as Harry made his way along the path laid out for him.

When he stepped into the kitchen, the first thing his eyes went to was that enormous, stupid grin. The Doctor was on the opposite side of the island counter, leaning on it with his chin in his hand, just grinning. It took Harry a moment to notice the other things the Doctor had laid out, momentarily frozen before that look.

Sometimes he just couldn't believe that, somehow, his life had become one that involved the Doctor looking at  _him_  like that.

"Good morning," the Doctor said, unable to wipe the grin from his face.

Harry blinked and regained himself, attempting to look sleepy and slightly irritable as he gestured around him. "What's all this?"

"It's for you," the Doctor answered cheerfully. "Happy Valentine's Day, Lahrre."

He looked at the small presentation on the countertop, scattered with more leaves. There was a breakfast that was really just a dessert poorly disguised as breakfast by placing a crepe somewhere amongst all the whipped cream and chocolate sauce. There was also a gorgeous plant from Nymlara called a heartspring, which had had its pot carefully wrapped with colour tissue and ribbon, just days away from blooming.

The plant was carefully chosen too. Heartsprings required the usual care of a plant, but they also were sentient enough to have their own requirements for emotional health. They literally needed to be loved in order to be healthy. The plant's flowers would grow in size depending on how loved it felt, and the colours its flowers bloomed in revealed how much the plant loved its carer in return. This one was small, very young, and the few buds it had produced were not particularly sizable. It would need a lot of love.

"Do you like it?"

Harry looked up at the Doctor's face, just realizing how long he had been staring at the plant. He was still grinning, but Harry noticed a slight nervousness in his eyes now.

"It's beautiful," Harry answered quietly, reaching his hand out to touch its delicate leaves. "Though I have a feeling that you're going to ask something of me."

"We can get to that later," the Doctor answered hurriedly, stepping around the island closer to move in close. "Right  _now_ , I thought maybe there might be something you'd like to ask of  _me_."

The Doctor's hands slid over him, gliding over and around his hips to pull him close enough to press everything except their faces together. That one eyebrow that seems to have a mind of its own raised itself nice and high while the Doctor grinned at him.

Harry looked past him and nodded his head towards the small, black box that remained untouched on the table. "You gonna show me what's in the box?"

"Oh, Harry," the Doctor sighed in feigned disappointed, though his hands began to move again. "Don't play hard to get." The Doctor's hands explored a bit while his lips teased at Harry's neck, gentle and eager. "I lived for nine hundred years before having you. We've made good progress, but I think we've still got a lot of catching up to do."

A hand was just slipping beneath the silk of Harry robe when the sound of feet thumping down the staircase caused it to rapidly jerk away. Ganbri suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway, pyjamas and all, in time to see that the Doctor was hurriedly putting distance between himself and his husband where there previously was none.

"Ew. You guys are  _so_  gross," Ganbri groaned as he made his way to fridge. "Seriously, I eat in here. Isn't that what your room is for?"

Harry crossed his arms and opened his mouth to remind his son of a thing or two, but the Doctor cut in with his slightly frantic please-let's-change-the-subject voice. "I thought you were at Donna's? Didn't you say you were going to Donna's?"

"I think the better question is what are you doing out of bed before noon?" Harry grinned. "Are we being invaded? Are you dying?"

Ganbri paused what he was doing to glare at Harry over the fridge door. "You're hilarious," he said with a tone dripping with that special level of dull sarcasm that only teenagers can manage. "I'm just gonna hang out with J.J. today."

"Is J.J. your Valentine this year?" The Doctor smiled at Ganbri in the way that he did when he was trying to be inviting, but Harry knew that that particular smile only annoyed him. He immediately felt a little wave of irritation drift over from their son.

Ganbri scowled at him. "No," he answered with a huff. "We're just hanging out. I'm not gay, Dad."

"I never said you were," the Doctor answered quickly, putting his hands up in a quick surrender. "I was just asking because I didn't want to assume."

Harry waited for it. He could practically hear the ticks and whistles in the Doctor's head as he fought the urge to make a correction.

"And you know, having a boy for a Valentine doesn't necessarily—"

"Get your breakfast and get the hell out of here or you're gonna see some stuff you'll wish you hadn't," Harry interrupted loudly. Ganbri and the Doctor both stared at him with wide eyes for a second, to which Harry only raised his eyebrows to show he was only half joking. "And if you think we're bad, you're in for a real shock if you're going to your Uncle Jack's on Valentine's Day."

"Ew," Ganbri grunted with disgust, hurriedly grabbing a few things from the fridge. "Can't you at least wait for me to eat something?  _God_."

"Oh, I can wait. But with all the candles and music, I can't make promises for anything longer than five minutes."

" _Ew_." Ganbri pulled the power cord for the music player out of the wall on his way out to buy himself another minute or two. "Don't do anything nasty in the kitchen!"

"Don't challenge me, boy!" Harry called after him. He looked over at the Doctor with a grin and only saw an unamused face looking back at him.

"Harry, you have to remember that he's only ever lived on Earth. I was trying to let him know that it would be okay if—"

"He knows it's okay!" Harry interrupted with a roll of his eyes. "He's got two dads, for god's sake. He just likes girls, that's all."

The Doctor crossed his arms, frowning. He wanted to argue a bit, Harry could tell—probably about the fact that Ganbri only said he wasn't gay and not that he didn't like boys—but he was thinking better of it. The conversation with Ganbri would go nowhere today and the Doctor was still on a mission.

Harry watched as his muscles relaxed one by one. His eyebrow raised itself again, his eyes softened, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. He was reminding himself that he was supposed to be sexy, and arguing for the sake of pointing out technicalities was not sexy.

"Well," the Doctor sighed, running his hand through his hair to mess it up a little. "I suppose we'll have to find something else to keep us occupied until he leaves. Why don't have some of your breakfast there and I give you a little shoulder rub?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you really are trying today, aren't you?"

"Are you complaining about it?"

"Nope." Harry pulled up a seat.

The crepe concoction was really a bit too sweet for his taste, with its mounds of whipped cream and strawberries, generously drizzled with both caramel  _and_  chocolate sauce. Somewhere in there, there were also baked apples and a lump of some sort baked dough that wasn't quite cooked. The Doctor rubbed his shoulders for a few minutes, though Harry could tell by the stiffness in his hands that he felt nervous with Ganbri still in the house. But, ever determined, the Doctor eventually slid the silk aside, allowing the robe slip half way down Harry's back, giving his hands better access.

"That's nice," Harry offered as a small form of encouragement.

He could feel the heat from the Doctor's body radiating against his back, he had moved so close. Small whispers of dirty thoughts were creeping their way from the Doctor's mind to his own while warm breath and gentle kisses were working their way across the back of his neck.

Somewhere in the house, barely noticed by either of them, Ganbri called out some form of a goodbye and a door closed. By that time, Harry had forgotten his sickeningly sweet meal and had closed his eyes to enjoy the affections being given to him.

"Do you like it?" the Doctor asked quietly.

Harry sighed with approval and leaned his body back slightly, giving the Doctor the access to what he actually wanted. As he expected, the Doctor leaned closer, pushing his chest against Harry's back, so that one of his hands could glide around to his front. The silk of his robe was pushed apart and the hand took hold of him, earning another sigh as it slowly slid up and down.

"The last time was so risky," Harry said quietly, letting his head fall back onto the Doctor's shoulder as he enjoyed the feeling.

"That was a different time," the Doctor whispered in his ear, breathing heavily already. "We're safe now. And we'll stay safe."

Harry turned his head and the Doctor reacted by turning his own, allowing their mouths to meet. The hand gripped him a little tighter and the narin spread through them both as tongue massaged tongue.

The Doctor broke away just long enough to whisper, "Let me in you, Harry." The Doctor's body pushed against Harry's back, and he felt what was yearning for him, rock hard against his spine, and their mouths met again.

His hips were beginning to move of their own accord, pumping in rhythm with the Doctor's hand. His whole body was becoming restless and the narin infecting him was making him more frustrated than satisfied. It wasn't enough. He needed more.

He stood up and quickly turned around, grasping at the Doctor and pulling him desperately close, wanting more of him.  _All_  of him. He grabbed a fistful of that beautifully thick hair and kissed him while his other hand frantically undid the front of the Doctor's jeans.

"We do it your way later," Harry gasped between kisses. "Right now, I want to do it  _my_  way."

The Doctor's eyes it up with a new kind of fire and he nodded quickly. "Okay."

His knees bent, lowering him so that he could take Harry into his mouth, but that wasn't what Harry had meant. He grabbed the Doctor's arm and pulled him back up, manoeuvring him so that they switched places, and the Doctor followed direction without resistance. He bent over the island countertop without Harry prompting him, pulling his jeans down and pushing the remains of the sugary breakfast aside.

"Do it, Harry," he moaned, and Harry was sure that the eagerness was not an act this time.

He pushed inside and the Doctor moaned again, pushing back and shifting his hips around a little. Fifteen years of marriage and Harry still couldn't get enough of the way the Doctor squirmed when Harry was inside him, or the way his lips parted and his eyes slowly closed. Today, it was almost too much and it was only a few minutes before Harry began to lose himself as he thrust into the other man.

The Doctor tensed and cried out, "Faster!" And the order had never been more welcome. Harry gripped the Doctor's hips and obeyed, thrusting harder and faster and causing the whole flurry of sensations to speed up and intensify. One of the Doctor's hands flew back towards him, frantically groping until one of Harry's hands came forward to meet it. They clasped tightly, strengthening their grip on each other as they each neared completion.

Finally, Harry got the cue he was waiting for when the Doctor's fingers suddenly doubled their strength and all the muscles surrounding Harry with such pleasurable heat tightened. He stopped holding back and thrust without abandon as the feeling overcame him and he filled the Doctor's body.

The Doctor allowed himself to relax and let the countertop take his weight while he caught his breath. Harry pushed himself in further, holding onto the pleasure as it faded. He felt satisfied, but he loved it too much when the Doctor wanted it that badly to be satisfied for long.

He pulled out and lifted the back of the Doctor's shirt just enough so that he bend could down and reach the Doctor's shevra with his mouth. He closed his mouth around the small area and licked at it eagerly, even grating his teeth over it gently just so that he could hear the way the Doctor gasped.

"What are you doing?"

"I want you again," he answered simply.

"But we just— _Already_?"

"Yes." He took himself in his own hand, stroking as his tongue worked the Doctor's shevra. He might not have been as young as he once was, but he was perfectly capable of bouncing back for a second round in a short amount of time.

"I, uh . . ." The Doctor had finished into his own hand, trying to avoid a mess, which now made it awkward for him to respond to Harry without the worry of spreading it. "Come on then. Quickly."

The Doctor hurried from the kitchen with Harry trailing immediately behind him, and led them to the bathroom. Before the Doctor could even speak, Harry had caught his mouth and was eagerly exploring it with his tongue again. They stumbled blindly, lips locked and limbs entangled, shedding any remaining clothes until they found their way to the shower.

For a moment, they both forgot what the actual plan was and so they just explored each other, panting and gasping, until the Doctor seemed to remember. He turned his back to Harry and reached for the shower's taps, exposing himself perfectly. Harry entered him without warning, causing the Doctor's hands to slip, but the sudden blast of cold water did nothing to deter him after hearing such a satisfying shout.

With a bit of clumsy fumbling, the Doctor managed to get the water temperature to something decent as Harry rode him. Words were lost in the sound of the running water but the feeling wasn't, and Harry moved with increased fervor until the sense of being overwhelmed began to come back.

He rubbed his fingers into the Doctor's shevra to push him over the edge, with satisfying results. The Doctor's muscles tightened and he cried out Harry's name—his true name—as he allowed the water to wash away his seed. Harry answered the Doctor's true name in turn and filled his husband once more.

It seemed all the Doctor could do to shakily lower himself to the shower floor instead of simply collapsing, and Harry couldn't blame him after receiving two quick and hard sessions in a row. "No round three!" the Doctor gasped out quickly, pushing Harry's hands away. "I need a break!"

"No round three?" Harry answered with a shrug, sitting down on the shower floor beside him. "I suppose we can't do it your way then."

"Oh, we will," the Doctor corrected sharply. "I just need to . . . replenish."

It was nice to just rest together for a while. Harry woke up alone in the mornings so often that moments like this were more than welcome. So he let his head rest on the Doctor's shoulder and sighed in contentment as the water washed over them.

They poked fun at each other a bit and laughed about how horrified Ganbri would be if he had any idea what they had just done to the kitchen. Then they just talked about him for a while, updating each other on how he was doing and what he was up to. It was surprising how many times they each heard the words "I don't know". Their little boy wasn't so little anymore.

That got the Doctor talking about babies again. He gushed over memories of Ganbri as a baby, talked about how he would set up a nursery, and debated with himself over whether he wanted more sons or daughters. Harry listened to it all, watching the way the Doctor's eyes lit up with endless joy and wonder, and felt his hearts fluttering in a way that he thought was long gone. The Doctor had been able to make Harry fall in love with any idea since they were children and time had done little to change them.

In time, they cleaned themselves properly and redressed, then worked together to fix the mess they'd made in the kitchen. The small black box vanished, still unopened, and Harry knew that the Doctor would wait for the right time to bring it out again. The heartspring seemed to have perked up in the couple of hours it had sat in the kitchen, and Harry had a good suspicion as to why.

Even as they cleaned, or afterwards when they settled back to normal daily activities, the Doctor couldn't seem to keep his hands off of Harry. He was always rubbing his shoulders or leaning against him or moving in to steal a kiss. It was the same way when Harry had been carrying Ganbri—something about the thought of having a baby together made the Doctor more affectionate than ever—and he rather enjoyed it.

Ganbri came home in the afternoon with J.J. at his heels. They didn't say much about what they were up to but Ganbri changed his clothes at least a dozen times while J.J. made uncertain comments until they finally gave in and approached Harry about what looked best. Then, after Harry's suggestion, they both explored the garden and the greenhouse, picking the best and most beautiful flowers.

The Doctor watched through the kitchen window and glanced at Harry, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"You are so clueless," Harry said with a smirk and a shake of his head. "The flowers are for Annie."

"Annie?" the Doctor sounded surprised but, after a moment's thought, he nodded his head in understanding. "She's a lovely girl. She takes care of him. She takes care of them both."

The boys left and it was the Doctor's cue to continue their Valentine's adventures.

They did the boring things that regular, human people did—a walk through the park, a little bit of just-for-fun shopping, the Doctor took him to see a stage adaptation of  _Singin' in the Rain_ , dinner in a dimly lit, high-end restaurant. The music was live and a separate area had been set aside for dancing, so Harry coaxed the Doctor out of his chair while they waited for their meal. On a normal day, the Doctor likely would have dug his heels in unless the music was bouncy and casual, but today he conceded.

Finally, they found their way home to their little white house with its little garden that they built together and its Christmas lights still waiting to be taken down. The Doctor's hand was warm in his, his hearts beat a little faster with joy instead of stress, and the only sounds he heard were their breath and their footsteps. Fifteen years was a blink of the eye to a Time Lord and somehow everything he'd ever known had changed.

The Doctor pulled at his hand, leading him away from the front door and to the garage instead. He was grinning like a fool again, chuckling about the night not being over yet.

The TARDIS sat in the corner of the garage, hidden from the public eye but still kept as close as possible. She hummed with a sort of happiness when the Doctor unlocked her doors and pulled Harry inside. He got no explanation, despite his protests—the Doctor just dragged him down the many hallways, insisting that Harry would see in a moment.

Finally, the Doctor opened a door and Harry felt a rush of old air. He looked through the doorway and saw nothing but darkness and an occasional bit of white. He held his hand out into the darkness as one of those white specks drifted near and let it touch his skin. Cold and wet. It was snow.

He glanced at the Doctor and saw him looking back sideways, the grin on his face slowly stretching wider. Harry suddenly could do nothing to stop himself from grinning back, and he stepped through the door.

A light layer of snow crunched beneath their feet and Harry felt tiny cold kisses on his face as more flakes slowly drifted downward. It was incredibly dark but, now that he had gone through the doorway, Harry could see some light not far off. It proved to be a ring of small glowing orbs planted in the snow, dimly lighting the area in which he assumed they were supposed to sit judging by the piles of cushions and blankets on the ground.

Stepping through the circle of light brought the temperature up a few degrees, to something a little more comfortable for what he was sure the Doctor had planned. There was a bottle of wine, some glasses, and what looked like a small picnic basket.

"Looks like you're planning to be here a while."

The Doctor simply grinned at him and picked up the wine bottle. "Oh, yes."

He kicked his shoes off before settling down on the cushions and Harry followed his example. He looked up and realized that the ongoing blackness didn't extend to their artificial sky. It was lit up with a variety of colours, like a rainbow mist slowly drifting about in different shapes. It was how the sky looked on the night that Ganbri was conceived.

The Doctor poured them both a small amount of wine, handing a glass to Harry, and then took a deep breath.

"So," the Doctor said.

"So."

The Doctor grinned again. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

Harry sipped his wine and grinned back. "When have I ever made anything easy for you?"

"Happy Valentine's Day, Lahrre."

"Happy Valentine's Day."

Their glasses clinked lightly together and they each took a sip. Before Harry could even lower his glass, the Doctor had his hand out, palm up, holding that little black box he'd seen in the morning.

"What's that then?" he asked, trying not to sound too interested.

"Something to make it easier," the Doctor answered with a smile. "Just open it, stupid."

Harry had lost some of his taste for jewellery in his newest body, but the ring inside the box was definitely pleasing to his eye. It was a simple thing, with a thin, silver band and a single red stone sitting in the center. When he ran his finger over its surface, he recognized the materials as those from Godforge.

"Our little Star," the Doctor said quietly, sounding very pleased with himself, and placed his hand gently on Harry's back. "You're a good father, Lahrre."

He blinked, staring down at the band and not exactly sure what to say. "Thank you."

Harry realized that the band was thin because it would leave plenty of room for more rings. A lot of rings.

Damn it, they'd talked about this. They'd agreed time and time again to have another child—he  _wanted_  more children—but every time that it came down to it, he seemed to shut down. The Nightmare's War hung in the back of his mind, looming over his happy little life and threatening to end it.

His son was going to war and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Ganbri would suffer, see unspeakable things, kill, and die. His little boy.

Ganbri was young, Harry thought unhappily, but he would just have to be old enough. He was raising Ganbri to be strong and capable and he could raise his next child in the same way. There were no guarantees of safety and he simply had to accept that. He couldn't stop him and his family from continuing to live life because of a fear for the inevitable.

So he gave the Doctor a line he could use. "I didn't get you anything."

The Doctor's eyes lit up and Harry could swear he suddenly stopped breathing. The other Time Lord shifted closer on the cushions, taking the ring from Harry's hand and slipping it onto a finger for him, then entwining their fingers together.

"I'm so happy," the Doctor whispered to him, eyes wide and full of that overwhelming excitement and joy that had so enraptured him when they were young. "I have everything. You've given me everything. The only thing I could think of in the universe that I'd want is another person to share it with." He squeezed Harry's hands in his own and leaned in closer, whispering as though he were almost afraid to be heard. "Make another baby with me, Harry."

Harry smiled and put his hand on the Doctor's cheek. "I'm going to expect another ring." And, for the briefest of moments, as the time energy in his body shifted and changed for the sake of a few cells, his skin glowed with gold. The Doctor's eyes widened even further and suddenly glimmered ever so slightly in the light. "Now, now, Doctor, don't you start crying or I'll think—"

The Doctor's lips stopped him from finishing the sentence and a psychic wave of emotion almost knocked him over. He was loved. He was loved.  _He was loved_. The sense of it was so overwhelming that Harry felt like he was drowning in it. The Doctor was coming apart at the seams and Harry was forced to partially close off the connection between them just to keep a sense of what was happening and found himself lying on his back in the cushions, the sky alive with colour and beauty above them.

His hearts were pounding and the Doctor's happiness was contagious. Suddenly he couldn't remember why the thought of having another child with this amazing man had ever made him nervous. Of course he wanted to have another baby with him. Of course he wanted more sleepless nights and first steps and lessons and long days. He wanted his hands to be heavy with the weight of rings.

The energetic activities of the morning made them both more patient but no less invested. The Doctor took his time with everything and was more gentle than usual. He talked a lot—muttering all sorts of lovely little things and pecking adoring kisses just about everywhere on Harry. Once their clothes had been shed, the nip in the air was enough for them to pull the blankets over themselves.

Tangled together in the warmth beneath a dancing sky and with heads full of a fog of emotion, the Doctor moved inside him. It made Harry feel strangely content and, for a moment, he couldn't really think of wanting anything more. The moment passed as his body began to respond and move, pulling the Doctor closer and craving more of him. It slowly built until the sweet words and tender kisses were long forgotten and exchanged for heavy breath and grasping hands.

One of the light orbs got knocked aside and it rolled away through the snow. Somehow the blankets had been misplaced and were now piled somewhere around their feet. Harry didn't care. He didn't need the light and it was warm enough with the Doctor's body in and around him, his hot breath in Harry's ear and washing through his hair. They infected each other's minds and freely gave in to the delirium.

Music filled his ears and stars filled his eyes as he experienced the very soul of his husband and every moment of it made him want more until the sounds grew so loud that they were silent and the colours became so vibrant that they were nothing but white mist.

And just like that, in the blink of an eye, they'd changed their lives again. The Doctor had filled him with seed and as he lay there, panting and trembling as he came down from the high, barely able to think, his body getting to work. Suddenly they were creating life.

Lights were replaced. Blankets were relocated. Limbs were tangled and heads positioned in more comfortable ways. More words of love and excitement were spoken and fingers drew idle patterns on skin. They slept beneath the beautiful colours twisting above them and the soft snow drifting around them, and Harry felt truly at peace.

The next morning, the Doctor was a mess of emotion at the sight of the tiny white speck on Harry's chest. Tears streamed from his eyes while he desperately tried to wipe them away to see. He spoke to it, though his voice was much higher than normal and his mouth refused to relax its smile even in the slightest. Harry found himself surprisingly calm on the outside, despite the storm of hormones and emotions that were racing through him. He smiled and blinked away whatever moisture gathered in his eyes, and allowed the Doctor to express everything for him.

They agreed to keep the denndi a secret for the first couple of months, even from Ganbri, just in case.

It was a good thing they did.

After a couple of days, the little thing was still pale and clearly not accessing its blood supply fully. The Doctor tried every trick he knew, but the scar tissue on Harry's chest was simply too thick. After exhausting their options, the Doctor finally attempted to remove the denndi and place it on the other side of Harry's chest—a technique that was saved as a last resort because the Doctor worried that it would too traumatic for such a frail denndi.

The strain proved to be too much. The next day, Harry woke to find the tiny creature had detached from him. Part of him had expected and prepared for it, but he felt strangely hollow as he carefully picked it up and cradled it in his hand. It was barely larger than a drop of water.

The Doctor found him in the garden and Harry could tell from his face that he already knew. They buried their lost child and planted the heartspring over top of it, already far more lush and healthy-looking than a week before.

They stood, hand in hand, just looking at it for a while. Harry felt a dull ache somewhere in his chest, a heaviness in his stomach, and a slight stinging in his eyes, but he swallowed hard and refused to let it gain any more influence over him.

"I think this a good day for staying in pyjamas," he said quietly.

The Doctor nodded his head quickly. One or two small tears had spilled out, but the Doctor hurriedly wiped them away with a sniff.

"You okay?" the Doctor asked, his voice quiet and hoarse.

"Yeah. You?"

The Doctor cleared his throat and his mouth opened slightly as though he were going to speak, but then closed again. That meant "no".

Harry slid his arm around his husband's shoulders and squeezed him gently. "Tea and telly?"

The Doctor nodded again. "Tea and telly."

Ganbri didn't get out of bed for another hour and a half. When he did, and he saw his parents still in their pyjamas and watching television, he didn't ask them why they weren't bustling about cleaning and tinkering and gardening like they usually did. He went straight back to his room and came back down the stairs dragging one of his blankets behind him.

The Doctor lifted one of his arms and Ganbri took the invitation to sit next to him and tolerate a bit of parental cuddling. He was fourteen now and usually complained about the Doctor's insistence for hugs and affection but, this morning, he said nothing.

He just pulled his blanket up over his knees and pretended he was still their little boy.


	17. 2026 - War Games

** 2026 **

"I can't tell if this is still funny or not."

"Why? Are you scared?"

"If questioning whether or not we're in danger counts as being scared, then yes."

Ganbri scoffed. "You're such a wuss. It's just my dad."

J.J. thumped him hard in the shoulder and sighed unhappily but said nothing. Ganbri's hearts were racing in his chest and he couldn't help the grin on his face. This was the first time he'd tested out his newly learned skills on someone who didn't think of him as a child.

His Tokrah had left work early and come by Torchwood's headquarters, walking in while Ganbri and J.J. were in the middle of a sparring session. Ganbri had thought they were going to get a stern telling off, and that Tokrah would make him go home and remind him that Banni had forbidden him from combat training.

Instead, his father had grinned at him and the grin was that of a stranger.

Tokrah must have left work because he felt the attack coming on. As soon as Ganbri realized that this particular attack might actually give him a chance to spar with his own father, he said whatever he felt was needed to aggravate it. J.J. quickly became visibly nervous, muttering warnings to Ganbri and asking him to stop, but Ganbri pushed anyway. He didn't understand what it was that could have had the Alreesh boy so nervous. Tokrah had only offered to help them practice, even if he had said it with a slightly ominous sounding tone.

Ganbri had fought against him using a staff, but it quickly became obvious which way the fight was going to go. J.J. leapt in beside him, and Tokrah swatted him aside as though a second opponent were nothing but a slight irritation. Tokrah was hitting them harder than they were used to in practice and he only got faster with each moment. It wasn't long before J.J. spooked and sent his staff spinning through the air at Tokrah's head, grabbed Ganbri's arm, and ran to hide.

"Jinnar," Tokrah's voice called out playfully. "Come on out."

Ganbri moved to step out from their hiding place, but J.J. gripped his arm. "Don't," the Alreesh warned him, pupils dilated and breathing heavy. "I don't think this is just training to him. Something's not right."

"You hide then," Ganbri answered irritably and stepped out.

Tokrah's eyes turned on him with some sort of glee, and his grin widened. It was strange for Ganbri to his father acting like someone so very different—he was almost creepy. Tokrah swung his wooden staff around like it was a simple toy and crouched slightly so that he was almost the same height as Ganbri.

"What's the matter? You don't like my new face?" Tokrah said, his voice not wavering from its playful tone. "It's very rude of you to hide from me. Who told you to do that?"

Ganbri chose not to answer, standing at the ready instead. He'd already learned that Tokrah only spoke to distract and, if Ganbri let his guard down, he'd quickly regret it.

"Hmm, I imagine it must have been Mother," Tokrah continued, twirling his staff around his fingers as he took a step forward. "Don't tell me you believe the awful things they've been saying about me?"

Ganbri saw J.J. out of the corner of his eye. He was creeping around the edge of the room, slinking between equipment and boxes to stay out of sight. If Ganbri could keep his Tokrah distracted for a moment, the Alreesh would be able to get around to his back.

"I haven't heard anything," Ganbri answered, trying not to look in Jack's direction. "I don't know what they've been saying."

Tokrah laughed and Ganbri felt a chill creep up his spine. Maybe J.J. had been right. Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. This wasn't like the attacks he was used to and Tokrah was beginning to scare him a little.

"I'll tell you what, Jinnar," Tokrah said, stepping closer to Ganbri and swinging his staff up to rest against his shoulder. "I'm going to ask you two questions—just two. Then I'll go away. Deal?"

Jack was behind him now, hiding behind an old box and waiting. "Okay."

Tokrah stood directly in front of him and crouched so that they were perfectly level. The look in his father's eyes was completely alien to him and the chill deepened.

"Where is the Doctor?"

"Uh," Ganbri stammered. The question had caught him off guard and his mind simply started stringing words together in a strange panic. "I don't know. He's on a job. Somewhere in Greece or something."

Tokrah smiled almost warmly and tilted his head to the side a little. "Greece," he echoed softly. "Or something."

J.J. was slipping silently out from his hiding place, closing the distance between him and Tokrah.

"He didn't tell me where exactly."

"Hmm . . . No, he wouldn't," Tokrah hummed thoughtfully, but looked content. He then reached his hand out and touched Ganbri's cheek affectionately, stopping to ruffle his hair as well before withdrawing his touch. "Now then, I had just one more."

Ganbri felt stunned by the eeriness of it. He never thought there would be a day that his Tokrah's touch frightened him. He never thought he would stand in front of him and worry about what he might do next.

"Uh-huh," was all Ganbri was able to say.

"Do you think I can't smell an animal?"

J.J. had heard the question and reacted by quickly attempting to retreat. Even with Jack's admirable agility, Tokrah was faster. The staff swung around and caught J.J.'s ankle as he sprang backwards, knocking the boy to the floor. The other end of the staff kept swinging afterwards and would have come around to strike Ganbri in the jaw had he not blocked it with his own.

"Did you get a pet, Jinnar?" Tokrah chuckled, stepping over to Jack and looking down at him in amusement. "He's not trained very well, is he?"

Jack climbed to his feet, obviously struggling with his wounded ankle. "Ganbri, just go," he hissed, not taking his eyes off Tokrah. "I'll—"

"Ganbri?" Tokrah's head whipped around to face Ganbri again. Ganbri had hoped to see recognition or, at the very least, confusion. Instead, his Tokrah frowned angrily.

"Who are you?" he demanded with a voice instantly full of fury. "Where's Jinnar? What have you done with him?"

"I don't know what happened," Ganbri blurted quickly. "Jinnar is dead."

He just said it. He'd never been told about Jinnar, so it was safe to assume he was dead. Banni frequently reminded Tokrah that the people he was looking for were dead when he had an attack. It usually worked. It usually helped him remember reality.

This time, his face contorted with rage.

Tokrah rounded on him, raising the staff again. J.J. moved to attack and, in one fluid motion, Tokrah went from raising his staff at Ganbri to turning it over his shoulders and blocking Jack's attempt. The staff kept moving, not hesitating to think, sweeping around to strike at Ganbri's chest. He managed to block it, but only barely. It wasn't until he heard the yelp that he realized Tokrah had simultaneously swept his leg back and kicked Jack's already injured leg. The staff came at him again and he failed to stop it, taking the hit to the shoulder.

When the staff came towards him a fourth time, Ganbri dropped his staff and threw out his hands. "Dad, stop!"

He forcefully pushed his consciousness into his father's and golden light erupted from every inch of his skin. The action was instinctual, and it wasn't until his pain vanished that Ganbri even realized he was healing himself. His mind burst with a thousand memories of boring breakfasts and Christmas mornings, not entirely sure exactly what he was trying to communicate.

Apparently, he didn't need to understand his own plan in order for it to work.

When he opened his eyes and blinked away the gold stars in his vision, the end of the staff was hovering two inches from his face. Tokrah was staring at him with enormous, round eyes, his mouth hanging open slightly.

"Ganbri?"

"Oh, thank the gods," J.J. sighed, allowing his body to relax against the floor again and dropping his staff.

"Pick that back up!" Tokrah snapped.

J.J. leapt to his feet immediately, clutching the staff in his hands again. Ganbri watched as Tokrah dropped his own staff and took steps away from them both, taking deep breaths as he tried to calm himself. Ganbri had watched his Tokrah come out of an attack a hundred times before but, this time, it was absolutely surreal.

"We're on Earth," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

"Yeah," Ganbri answered.

"Okay . . ." Tokrah spent a few more minutes asking questions to establish when and where he was. Finally, Ganbri felt his father's mind reaching out for his own, and he eagerly reached back. He was used to finding comfort when they made that sort of connection, not giving it, but he tried his best. Thankfully, it seemed to work and Tokrah relaxed a bit.

After a few more breaths, Tokrah's eyes moved to the staff in Jack's hand. "Is that your weapon of choice?"

Jack released his fighting stance and stood up straight. "Yes, sir."

"And you?"

Ganbri tried his best to imitate J.J.'s posture and answered, "Yes, sir."

Tokrah sighed heavily and rubbed at the skin between his brows.

"We train with other weapons too," J.J. suddenly blurted. He paused when Tokrah looked up at him, then cleared his throat. " _I_  train. Ganbri just helps me sometimes."

"You've not been training; you've been  _playing_!" Tokrah snapped suddenly. "I've hardly ever fought with a staff in my life and you couldn't even hurt me in a two-to-one fight. I wasn't even  _trying_. Were you?"

J.J. looked at his feet and Ganbri couldn't help but do the same. "I did my best, sir."

"Well, your best isn't good enough."

Jack kept his eyes on the floor and nodded his head. "Sorry to disappoint, sir."

Tokrah sighed heavily again. "No. No, it's . . . Listen, just . . . just go get your stuff. We're going home. Now."

Ganbri and Jack hurried off without another word. They washed the sweat from their faces and changed into their regular clothes. J.J. was limping on his wounded ankle, so Ganbri helped wrap it up for him. They said nothing to each other during the whole process, both a little in shock over what had just happened.

When they finally approached Tokrah with their backpacks, he was talking on his phone. He had traded his stressed face for one of concentration and he eyed both boys with a look of scrutiny as he finished his conversation.

"You ready?" he asked them when he hung up his phone.

"Yes, sir," they answered in unison.

"Good. Your classes start on Saturday."

Ganbri blinked. "Uh . . . what?"

"Would you like a repeat of today's events with someone who actually intends to kill you?"

"No, I—just, um—"

"Were you  _not_  trying to kill him?" J.J. interrupted.

Tokrah looked at them both with a sombre face. "Of course not."

Ganbri felt that frightened tingle creeping down his spine again and gulped. Tokrah's face and the emotions seeping through to Ganbri's mind made him think that there was another sentence in that answer that he chose not to say.

"Considering the fact that you two have been training in secret, it seems you plan to  _be_  in serious danger at some point," Tokrah continued. "You'll get killed, simple as that. So, you are beginning your classes on Saturday."

"Me too?" Jack asked eagerly.

"Wushu to start," Tokrah said with a nod. "I can teach you in hand-to-hand. Once you've got a grasp on that, we'll look at firearms."

" _Guns_!?" Ganbri sputtered. "Dad, I'm not even supposed to train unarmed. Banni's gonna freak!"

Tokrah's eyes took on a dark look and he grabbed the handles of both boys' backpacks to usher them forward. "You are taking the classes," he said firmly. " _I_  will handle your father."


	18. 2027 - Complicated

**2027**

Mum had told her stories that were hard to believe—planets made of diamonds, monsters made of living fire, robot Santas and exploding Christmas tree ornaments. She always told them with the most excited light in her eyes and often stopped midsentence to laugh.

Annabelle noticed that Mum often spoke of Uncle John as an afterthought on a lot of those stories, or else spoke of him as though he had tagged along. Mum's adventures were her own and the strange man from the stars who whisked her away in a magic box was just her friend that went with her.

Annie always thought that Uncle John was pretty dreamy. She was terribly embarrassed about it when she was little, until someone explained that he wasn't really her uncle. Really, she should have known that all along but whatever. She was just a little kid then.

Now that she was older, she realized why John was so amazing to her. Because, however Mum told the stories, John was the man with the magic box. He was the man from the stars. Uncle John was apparently known throughout the  _whole universe_  as the Doctor. There had been hints that he was known by other names too, but mostly he just went by the Doctor.

A lot of people didn't seem to realize that Uncle John wasn't just a geeky househusband who occasionally went away on consulting jobs. Annie knew the kind of stuff he did on those jobs. She'd even seen him in action once or twice, when a family trip would go awry. His reflexes were quick, his eyes piercing and searching, every muscle tensed. Uncle Harry and Uncle Jack were the same way. Maybe a lot of people didn't see it, but Annie wasn't stupid. She knew a fighter when she saw one, even if it weren't for the odd silences and funny looks that regularly popped up during retellings of stories.

Annie was old enough to have moved on from her childish fantasies of going on adventures with the Doctor and seeing the other side of him, or of her other uncles. To them, she would always be a little girl and they would always lie to her. They would never let her see them fight or do anything of major importance. She realized now that she didn't really care to go on adventures with them anyway. She didn't want to go adventuring with her  _uncles_. She wanted to go adventuring with a  _man_.

J.J. was younger than her by a few months, or at least as best as anybody could tell, but he didn't look or act like a boy who had just turned fifteen. He had grown into an adult's body, despite his young age. He was really short, though the Doctor said that he was as tall as he was ever gonna get, but every part of him was defined with muscle. His silky black hair had grown long enough that he tied it back when he trained now and, when he turned his camouflaging shimmer off, his fangs reached down towards his chin.

He had his shimmer off now, which meant he felt comfortable. The thought that he was comfortable around her left little butterflies in her stomach. It seemed that was how she felt most of the time she was around him these days, especially when they were left alone.

She glanced around the living room, despite knowing that no one else was there, and listened for a moment to hear if there were any nearby footsteps. Wherever her parents were in the house, they seemed to be keeping to themselves.

She watched him for a moment, taking note of how intensely he focused. While she was playing on her computer doing nothing of importance, J.J. was sitting cross-legged on the floor, studying. He was always studying. Or training. Or working. It wasn't often that he had an idle moment.

She closed her computer. "What you reading about?"

J.J. glanced up at her and quickly looked back down at his book. "Itaric subterranean warfare," he answered. "Some of these machines are impossible."

"What do you need to know that kind of stuff for?" she asked, sliding off her chair. She feigned interest in the book as an excuse to sit right next to him. He didn't seem to mind that she was touching him. She could never tell if that was a good thing or not.

"How people went to war is important," Jack explained, keeping his eyes mostly trained on his book. "A lot of wars were ended with just words, or tricks, or just using a small force in just the right spot. It's good to know how people failed or won, in case I'm ever in a similar situation."

"You plan to go to war?"

He took a moment to think about it while she took a moment to inspect the dark freckles on his cheeks. "I plan to join Torchwood and defend it," he answered eventually. "Almost everyone who was a part of Torchwood before died. I think a lot of that could have been avoided. I might be able to save somebody with this kind of information, you know?"

"That, or you just want all the girls to see how smart you are."

He chuckled a bit. "I have to do something to distract them from the fact that I only reach their shoulders."

"Chelsea doesn't seem to mind."

Jack let out just the tiniest sigh and scratched the back of his head, his eyes not looking up from his book. "I doubt I'll ever know. We haven't really been seeing other lately."

She had been debating with Ganbri just the other day if they were still together or not after Chelsea hadn't made an appearance for over a week. It seemed that they weren't.

"Are you okay with that?" she asked carefully.

"I accept her decisions."

"So she dumped you."

His eyes looked up at her, suddenly looking hurt and trying not to. "Annie," he said with a bit of a whine.

"Sorry," she answered, unable to conceal a half smile. "I didn't know you were so sensitive."

Jack scowled back down at his book and said nothing. Sulking. If Ganbri had said what she said, Nista would have told him to fuck off or punched him in the shoulder. Annie got nothing more than a frown and a little silent treatment.

"You'll find someone else," she offered next, giving him a nudge with her shoulder. "The girls all like you. Could be because you're so sensitive."

His mouth twitched in a slight smile, though it quickly disappeared. "Thanks."

Her heart beat a little bit faster suddenly, like it was yelling at her to just say  _something_  already. What was the worst that could happen? Well, he might not like her back. He might not want to be friends anymore if that was the case. No, that wouldn't happen. They'd always be friends no matter what.

"I like you," she said quietly.

He smiled again, and her heart fluttered a little more. He turned to look at her and the way his mouth moved suggested he was going to thank her again, but he didn't say it. Instead, he suddenly looked confused. His eyes widened slightly, and his head tilted just a tad to the side.

He wasn't sure what exactly she'd meant, she realized. He didn't know if she meant that she liked him as a friend or that she  _liked_  liked him. There was an instant of awkward panic before she quite suddenly decided there was only one way to fix it.

So she kissed him.

He went completely rigid and his back straightened up, but he didn't pull away. His lips were a bit softer than she thought they would be, but the way that his oversized fangs pushed at the sides felt very strange. But, while she was noticing things and leaning in a bit closer, Jack did little more than remain frozen. His lips responded a little bit when hers moved against them, but not with the enthusiasm she had hoped for and his hands didn't so much as twitch in her direction. It had been long enough that he should have gotten over the initial shock and responded properly, but he wasn't.

It was then that remembered that, at least when it came to women, Jack could never really bring himself to say no.

She pulled away and tried her best to smile, despite her disappointment. "Sorry."

"No! No, don't be sorry," Jack answered with immediate panic, his eyes darting in every direction but at her face. "It was nice. It was . . ." He cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his head again. "Uh, thanks. Yeah. Thank you."

"Well, it's just that you seemed pretty nervous."

He froze again for a second, eyes wide and searching the room for an answer. "I-I'm gonna die."

" . . . What?"

"That's what I told Chelsea. That's why she broke up with me," he explained, rushing the words out so fast that it was hard to understand. "I told her I was sick, but I'm not. I just said that 'cause I couldn't tell her that I have a short lifespan. That part's true. I'm gonna die while you guys are still young. Well, young- _ish_. And not even that, but I'm gonna join Torchwood. Do you know what the life expectancy for Torchwood members is? Because I don't think any of them have retired."

Annie raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm just saying that I'm probably gonna die. She deserved to know what she was getting into. I mean, do you think she wanted a mate who wouldn't be around when she's old? That's kind of a big deal to humans. So, really, I'm just trying to be fair and not do, you know . . . false advertising."

"Let me get this straight," she said, taking a deep breath. "You're saying that the only reason you didn't seem to enjoy me kissing you was because you felt guilty that you have a shorter lifespan than me?"

" . . . Yes."

"And you think all high school girls are seriously thinking about growing old with any boys they might kiss?"

"Well . . . don't they? I mean, that it is the point."

"So now that I know what I'm getting into . . ." She narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms. "Are you saying you'd want me to do it again?"

His eyes still wouldn't meet hers. "If you wanted to."

"And what if I wanted you to be my boyfriend?"

He cleared his throat again. "I could do that, if you wanted me to."

"What if I want to get married?"

There was a second of hesitation, but the look on his face and the way his mouth moved when he went to speak told her what his answer was going to be.

"Jack!" she shouted in exasperation and slapped his arm hard enough to make him jump. "You don't want to be my boyfriend! Oh my god, you can't just agree to get  _married_  just because I said so!"

"I just—"

"You've lived here longer than you lived on your own planet, Jack. You  _know_  that guys get to choose here and you  _know_  that you're allowed to say no! And Chelsea didn't dump you because you're going to die before her. She dumped you because she thought you were full of shit!"

His eyes finally met hers—the look of confusion being replaced with one of sudden realization. "I . . . do you think so?"

"Yes! 'I'm gonna die'—who says that!? She thought you were making the dumbest excuse ever to break up."

His eyebrows knitted together slightly. "Oh."

"God, you're thick sometimes," She rolled her eyes and huffed, but she couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the idiot. The way he looked when he was trying to figure something out softened her up. "And the lifespan thing shouldn't stop you from being with someone. Ganbri's going to outlive every human alive right now, and he would still date somebody."

"That's different," Jack answered quickly. "He'll be there when you're old. He can protect you for your entire life."

Annie narrowed her eyes again. "Just listen, the next time a girl kisses you and you don't want it, just say so, alright?"

His eyes glanced off to the side.

" _Jack_."

"Well, I—it's just that if  _she_ —"

She grabbed hold of his ear and pulled hard. "Da'in-Nuek Nista, I am telling you right now that you  _have_  to learn to say no to girls!"

Jack pulled away and flailed in panic, managing to wriggle free of her gasp as he shrieked, "That is a completely contradictory sentence!"

"What's going on, guys?"

Annie froze mid-way through her attempt to grab a hold of Jack's hair and looked over at the doorway. Ganbri was standing there with a full backpack slung over one shoulder, watching with interest as Jack scrambled away from her.

She quickly brushed back her hair with her hands and smiled pleasantly. "Jack and I are getting married."

Ganbri raised an eyebrow. "Is that a fact?"

"I don't know," she answered innocently, then leaned towards the direction that her friend had retreated to. "J.J.?"

"Uh . . ." Jack sounded uncertain, and he thought a moment before he carefully gave his answer. "No."

"Good," she answered happily and patted the floor beside her. "Now, come sit and I'll do your hair."

Jack obeyed without thought and moved back to his previous spot, looking curiously at Ganbri. "Something up?"

She ran her fingers through Jack's black locks to untangle them as best she could without a brush and picked out what sections she would work on first. If Ganbri was over, the boys would likely spar, or workout, or go for a run or something, all of which could be a pain to do with longer hair. Ganbri had chosen to shave his head down to a buzzcut a couple of months ago, but Jack preferred to keep his hair long and she often braided it for him on training days to keep it out of the way.

"Got home and my parents are fighting," Ganbri explained, dropping his bag on the floor. He picked up a handful of hair ties off of the computer desk and handed them to Annie on his way to a seat. "They didn't even hear me come in or out, they're screaming at each other so loud."

"What about?"

"I don't know. Something about ex-girlfriends or something," Ganbri answered with a shrug. "But I actually heard Banni use the word 'fuck' so it must be bad." Both Annie and Jack gasped appropriately, making Ganbri smirk. "I know, right?"

"You wanna stay at my place tonight?" Jack offered helpfully.

"Yeah, might do. Thanks, mate."

Annie frowned as she tied off her first braid. "Do you really think they'll be fighting all night?"

"Oh, I wish," Ganbri answered with a sigh and a shake of his head. "No, they'll scream at each other for an hour, then they'll spend three hours sulking in different parts of the house—and you don't want to be near either of them during the sulking— _then_  they'll make up and spend the whole night having really loud sex. I'm pretty sure they forget that the walls in the house are not like the walls in the TARDIS. It's disturbing."

"Well, we should have the place to ourselves. Jack said he was going to be staking out St. Edmund's Hall tonight."

" _Again_?"

"He's got a theory."

"Whatever," Ganbri sighed. "I'm happy as long as I can get some sleep without childhood crushing sounds coming through the wall."

"My place isn't much better though," J.J. answered with a frown. "Jack's brought home three different people this month. And they're not just loud—he doesn't confine it to one room. Get up to go to the bathroom or something and, bam, naked Twister in the living room. You can't unsee that."

Annie stifled a laugh. "What do they do when that happens?"

"Sometimes they don't notice, but usually there's some shrieking and covering up. One guy flipped out because he didn't know Jack had a kid. The worst was when there was like a . . . group  _thing_  going on and this lady thought I was just late to the party."

Annie raised an eyebrow at him. "And you said no?"

J.J.'s eyes looked in the opposite direction again, his lips closing tight.

"You said no, right?" Ganbri suddenly leaned forward in his chair, looking very interested. "No way! You did  _not_  get in on a group thing with Jack!"

"Of course not!" J.J. snapped irritably. "Jack shoved me out of the room and told them all I was underage."

"So you were too scared to say no for yourself and your daddy had to do it for you?" the other boy teased.

" _No_! And don't call him that. That's awkward as shit."

"How many were there?" Ganbri asked, even more interested. "Did you kind of want to do it? Were they all women or were there guys there too? What were they  _doing_? Was it the first time you've seen real boobs?"

While Jack sulkily answered questions in as little detail as possible and Ganbri roared with laughter and asked things that were even more specific, Annie just shook her head and continued her work. Soon enough, all of Jack's hair was in small braids around his head and tied back into a manageable bunch.

Finally, the boys gathered up their stuff to hurry out the door for whatever trouble they planned to get into. Ganbri kissed her on the cheek, as he often did, and promised they'd be back in the evening to watch a movie and vanished outside. Nista kissed her on her other cheek, which he never did, and took hold of her hand for just a moment. He took a deep breath as if he was about to say the hardest thing in the world.

"Annie, I don't want to be your boyfriend," he blurted. It came out uneasily but, once he said it, he smiled. "But thank you."

Annie grinned at him and squeezed his hand. "There, was that so hard?"

"It kind of was."

"You could still kiss me sometimes even without being my boyfriend, you know," she said in a teasing tone.

Jack's face spread into a grin and he let go of her hand. "No."


	19. 2028 - Secret Monsters

** 2028 **

J.J. stood in the back of the room, baring his teeth and shifting on his feet so that he could move quickly if needed. Ganbri stood frozen on the spot, transfixed and enchanted. Annie was the first to step forward, raising her hand to touch it.

Jack didn't tell her what to do or rush forward, but Ganbri felt the tension rise in him to panic. The last time Jack had been afraid for their safety, Ganbri ignored him and quickly regretted it. He wouldn't be making that mistake again.

"Don't touch it," he said quietly, speaking the words that Jack's nature didn't allow him to say.

Annie didn't lower her hand, but she didn't move forward either. "He's beautiful."

Ganbri moved closer, carefully inspecting the creature. It was asleep, or dormant, or sedated—he wasn't sure. He could see an outline in the floor where some sort of force field or other barrier must have been based once, but it wasn't there anymore. Instead, the creature simply rested within the circle, eyes closed and breathing in peace. Ganbri had no idea how it could possibly sleep with the blinding lights in this room, reflecting off its pure white walls and making them all squint.

"It's not as beautiful when it's awake. Trust me."

It had taken him months to find the Beast. He'd only seen it twice before in his life, and both times it had terrified him. In times of great danger, this thing had appeared from nowhere, and somehow the danger disappeared. He hadn't been able to see what it did but, now that he was older, he had a good idea.

As it slept, the Beast's skin was a deep black, mottled grey in some areas, Ganbri had seen its skin come to life with colour before. Its teeth were exposed even now, as if the skin of its lips had somehow rotted or burned away. Its neck was buried beneath a large flap of skin, but Ganbri had seen the skin open like an umbrella, quivering and flashing with colours. He'd never noticed it before but, now that the thing was still, he could see that there was a chain resting beneath that flap—a collar.

"You've found it, Ganbri," Jack said quietly, tension in his voice. "You've seen it. Let's leave and let it sleep."

Jack had seen the Beast only once before, but once seemed to be enough for him. When Ganbri told him that he wanted to find it, J.J. had refused. He only agreed to come along once he realized that Ganbri would go with or without him.

"Why are you so scared of him?" Annie asked, glancing back at the two of them.

Jack's lips receded a little further, the muscles in his jaw tensing. "I've seen it awake."

Ganbri shushed them both and moved closer still. He could hear something— _feel_  something. It was like the Beast was dreaming. Dreaming and projecting its thoughts as weak whispers. Was it intelligent then? Was it not an animal, but an ally?

He had asked Banni about the ferocious Beast he had seen twice as a boy. Banni only told him that it was not his concern and quickly changed the subject. Ganbri didn't know if it was a pet or a prisoner. He didn't know how it escaped the TARDIS in order to save them. He didn't even know if it was saving them or just randomly acting out.

Was it a hired professional or simply an escaped monster?

"Ganbri," Annie's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "You're glowing."

So he was. His skin was lit up like fire and his hearts were racing. He just wanted to understand what it was. He  _needed_  to know if it was intelligent. But the closer he got to the thing, the more fiercely he glowed. He suddenly realized that deep down, at the pit of his stomach, he was terrified of it.

But those whispers.

What was it  _thinking_?

He reached out with his mind, extending his consciousness to that of the sleeping thing before him. The whispers grew louder and foreign sensations came to him. He could faintly smell the mustiness of a wet forest and could just make out the taste of copper in his mouth.

_ Hungry _ .

He heard whispers of fear and confusion, and it was so hungry. It was so hungry and it didn't understand why it couldn't eat. It didn't know why it sometimes ate when it was full. It didn't know why it couldn't move. It didn't know why it sometimes moved when it didn't want to. It didn't know where that voice in its head came from.

"It's afraid of the dark," Ganbri muttered aloud. "Amazing."

"Tell me you're not linking with it," Jack spat out and suddenly he was at Ganbri's side, gripping his arm. "Are you fucking stupid?"

"That's why it's so bright in here," Ganbri continued as though Jack hadn't spoken. "It doesn't like the shadows." He looked over his shoulder and saw that the doorway had been intentionally unlit. The only shadow in the room was over the door.

_ The shadows hurt. It hurts. It bites. It eats and eats. _

Why wouldn't Banni just tell him about this thing? Why did it have to be a secret? Why did  _everything_  have to be a secret? Why couldn't he have just said that the Beast was an ally that came to help them? He could feel it now, as he dove a little deeper. There was intelligence here—great, unfathomable intelligence. If only he could connect properly, he would understand what kind of mind was hidden behind that ferocious body.

Ganbri's mind reached out to that intelligence to touch it.

"Stop."

Ganbri froze. That voice did not belong to J.J. or Annie and, as quiet and calm as it may have sounded, it cracked like a whip. He looked over his shoulder again, feeling like a stone had dropped in his stomach. The shadow over the doorway now held a figure inside it.

"Step away from it. All of you."

"Banni, I—"

"You're grounded," Banni interrupted him sternly. "Be thankful."

"I just needed to know what it was," Ganbri explained quickly. "It saved my life. Twice. I just needed to know what it was."

"It's an abomination," Banni answered simply.

The three of them stepped back and aside as Banni strode towards the creature. He explained that it was nothing but a predatory animal. It hunted. It killed. It ate. Nothing more. It was only kept here because Banni could think of no other way to keep the universe safe from it.

But, as he spoke, with his voice sharp and cold, his actions betrayed him. Banni touched the Beast and, as he explained that it was a monster, he stroked it like a pet. He said that he couldn't find a way to dispose of it, but his eyes looked it over with concern, looking for signs of ill health or injury.

As Ganbri watched his father and received two completely different stories, he realized that his Banni was lying.

Banni loved the Beast. He felt protective over it. He missed it. He wanted to console it in its fearful dreams.

Banni could use whatever harsh words he wanted to spin his story, but Ganbri knew that face. It was the way that Banni looked at him as a child when he was sick or hurt or crying. It was love and pain.

Annie was looking at it the same way, instantly completely sympathetic with it. "Couldn't you at least keep it in a better enclosure? This is no way for it to live."

"It's not safe to allow it to be awake," Banni answered, running his hand along its massive skull. He traced the curves of its neck, his fingers finding the chain peeking out from beneath its skin collar. Ganbri watched as he slipped his fingers beneath the links. "It shouldn't be alive, really. I just can't get rid of it. It won't die."

He was missing something. It was right in front of him and he was missing it. It was infuriating! Banni could just tell him. He could simply explain the situation right here and now like any normal person would, but he was too damned determined to keep his secrets.

"This thing could have killed you, do you know that?" Banni asked quietly, turning to look at them all with his fingers still tangled in the chain. "If you had woken it up, it might have eaten all three of you, just because it could. That's what it does. That's why it's locked away."

"I'm sorry, Banni," Ganbri answered quickly. "I just wanted to know why you kept it a secret."

The look that crossed his father's eyes was something unfamiliar to Ganbri. It made him look old. The Beast stirred and snorted, and Banni released its collar. As he walked towards them, calm in the sort of way that Ganbri recognized as furious, the Beast continued to stir in its sleep. A low groan escaped its lipless mouth and its clawed feet began to twitch and scratch at the floor.

"Well, now you know," Banni said quietly, continuing to walk towards them, herding them towards the door. "I kept it a secret because it kills people, Ganbri. Because it could have killed you, just now, and you would have had no warning. I keep secrets to protect you."

"But Banni, you—"

The Beast snorted loudly and Banni grabbed his arm, hard. His fingers squeezed and dug in enough that it hurt. Banni didn't seem to notice until Ganbri gasped in pain. He let go, but his fury was still evident in his eyes and his voice.

"Any secrets I have locked away, are locked away for a  _reason_. You're young, but you've seen enough. You know what kinds of things are out there. You know what kinds of things I stop."

There was something. It was right in front of him and he was just missing it. Why couldn't he just see it?

"I don't want to find you in my TARDIS without my permission again. I don't want to find that any more doors have been unlocked. I don't want you going digging after any more secrets. Understand?"

Ganbri stepped through the open door behind him and back into the hall. Jack and Annie quickly agreed with what Banni had said, but Ganbri couldn't take his eyes off the Beast. There was something about the way it moving or the way it was breathing . . . but what?

Annie's elbowed hit him in the ribs and he blurted out an answer instinctually. "Yes, sir."

"Good. And to make sure that you don't feel the need to go against our little agreement, you can keep yourself distracted by scrubbing out the equipment in the lab."

Banni stepped through the doorway and, as he passed beneath the shadow, the Beast shuddered.

Ganbri felt his breath hitch in his throat as an impossible suspicion fit together in his mind. He pushed the thoughts away as absurd and looked away from the Beast. It was simply impossible and ridiculous. The Beast was just what Banni said it was and the lie he told was simply him pretending that he didn't care about it at all. Banni was such a big softie that  _of course_  he loved a mindless monster like a pet, and he was just embarrassed about it. Obviously. That had to be it.

He nodded his head as Banni shut the heavy door behind him.

"Yes, sir."


	20. 2029 - Control

** 2029 **

Harry had put on a coat just so that the neighbours would stop looking at him so oddly. Yes, he knew it was snowing and, yes, he knew it was cold, but he was enjoying it. Sometimes, humans really needed to learn how to mind their own damn business.

He could see the UNIT vehicles down the road, trudging through the snow to reach him. He stretched his consciousness in that direction, picking up faint vibes of the Doctor's excitement to be home, and quickly withdrew again.

Two months. He'd been gone for  _two months_  this time. Harry was just as excited to have the Doctor coming home, but he was absolutely furious that he had been gone for so long. And without even a phone call! They could get to all that I-missed-you stuff  _after_  he got a damn good explanation for why his husband had vanished for two entire months without once establishing contact to at least confirm he was still alive.

The vehicle stopped at the end of the driveway and Harry stiffened his spine, ready to deliver a well-deserved scolding. But the door opened and he saw the way the Doctor's face lit up, and most of that anger melted away.

"Harry!" the Doctor cried out, in an oddly desperate sounding way as he flew out of the car. "Lahrre!"

The Doctor bounded up the driveway with incredible speed and he leapt the last few feet. Harry caught him in an awkward tangle of limbs, half holding and half dropping him. The Doctor kissed him—and not his usual, polite sort of kiss that he did in front of other people—and clung to him like he was drowning. Harry was too shocked to do anything but let him continue.

He couldn't think of a single time in their nineteen years together when the Doctor had literally leapt into his arms. He didn't behave this way in front of other people and certainly didn't  _kiss_  this way in front of other people. The Doctor's mind was flooding into his own with no sense of order or control and it was a chaotic mess of love and desperation and relief.

Harry didn't know what else to do, so he simply wrapped his arms around his husband and allowed himself to be kissed however the Doctor wanted to kiss him. When the Doctor finally broke away, gasping for air, he leaned his forehead against Harry's and closed his eyes, his hands still clutching at Harry's coat.

"By the stars, I missed you," he whispered.

"You don't say?"

The Doctor kissed him again, fingers wrapping themselves in Harry's hair in the way that they tended to when clothes were about to start coming off.

Harry pulled back and scowled at the parked UNIT vehicles. "Alright, I'm not stupid. Who is this and what have you done with my husband?"

No one spoke in return, not even the Doctor, whose fingers were still tangled in Harry's hair. Instead, a short and stocky man that looked to be of Japanese descent stepped out of one of the vehicles. His face was perfectly round and overly friendly, his black hair still incredibly thick, despite the fact that his body didn't appear to be in the best of health. In fact, he looked terribly sick. Behind his merry smile, his skin was grossly pale, almost grey, and had an oddly mottled look in some areas. He limped slightly and Harry could hear that his breathing was uneven and shallow.

The Doctor finally detached himself as the man toddled over to Harry, beaming all the way.

"Afternoon," the man said pleasantly as he approached. "I am Dr. Presley. You must be Professor Mott."

Harry shook his hand, eying him up and down suspiciously. "Presley?"

"Mm," the man nodded happily. "Kelevra Presley, if you please."

Harry raised his eyebrow, glancing sideways at the suddenly silent Doctor. "That doesn't really sound like a real name."

"No, it doesn't, does it?"

Harry looked the man up and down again, suspiciously. "Okay, what's going on? Something's wrong here."

"Oh. I need a new corpse. The rigor mortis hasn't passed yet."

Harry stared at him, waiting for the joke.

Dr. Kelevra Presley continued to smile at him until he finally seemed to make a connection. "Oh," he said again, and turned around. "This is the real me."

On the back of the man's neck was a swollen and stretched area of flesh, almost like someone had surgically inserted a cell phone. Beneath the swollen skin, Harry knew he would find something that looked like a small, black horseshoe crab, digging a dozen tiny pincers into the very nervous system of corpse it had inhabited.

"You're Zumecki," Harry muttered. "Well, that explains the stupid fake name."

"It suited."

"We found him stumbling around in the body of Elvis impersonator," the Doctor muttered with an almost embarrassed tone. "An Elvis impersonator who'd, uh . . . been run over by an eighteen-wheeler."

The dead man's face continued to smile serenely. "Caused quite a stir."

"Uh-huh," Harry glanced the body up and down once more, suddenly wondering where it had come from. "And Kelevra?"

"Well," the Doctor answered. "Before that he was a dog."

Kelevra winked. "Caused quite a stir then, too."

A dead person just winked at him. Harry wasn't sure he liked that.

"What are we doing with this guy?"

"Ah, well,  _we_  aren't doing anything with him."

Kelevra's head cocked to one side—a dog, indeed. "Doctor?"

"Sorry," the Doctor offered with a smile that didn't look even slightly apologetic. "You're getting back in the car and the lovely folks in there will take you to Captain Harkness. Isn't that right, Jason?" he added loudly, getting up on his toes to look at someone in the vehicle.

An armed soldier who looked much too young to be making any such decisions jumped at the sound of his name. "Uh, yes, sir?"

"Good man," the Doctor said with a grin and clapped Kelevra on the shoulder. "Now, it's been lovely, Kel. I'll pop by and see you tomorrow, eh? Tell Jack I said hi."

Kelevra eyed the Doctor with curious interest, looking him up and down before doing the same to Harry. That odd little smile of his never went away but stretched into something a little more mischievous looking and his voice sounded amused when he spoke.

"I understand."

"Excellent," the Doctor said happily. "Have fun. Get acquainted. Don't believe Jack if he tells you about any sort of Earth rituals that involve any removal of clothes. Big day tomorrow! Come on, Harold!"

Harry allowed himself to be pulled into his house by the hand, craning his neck to get a last look at the smiling man on the lawn.

"What exactly—"

The Doctor slammed the front door shut. "He can't go home, he's got nothing to do, and he's a very talented doctor. May as well send him to Jack so that Torchwood has someone to patch them up."

"You brought him here for—" Harry stopped and looked down, watching for a moment as the Doctor hurriedly undid the buttons on his shirt. " _Really_?"

"Shut up," the Doctor answered irritably, finishing with the Harry's buttons and then ripping off his own tie.

"You were just looking at a  _zombie_  and that's got you thinking—"

"Shut up," the Doctor said more firmly.

Harry raised his eyebrows, deciding whether he should be angry or turned on. The Doctor pulled his own shirt off and threw it at the floor before his hands dove for Harry's belt.

Harry slapped his hands away. "You've been gone for two months! You can't just—"

The air knocked out of him when the Doctor shoved him back against the front door. One of the Doctor's hands gripped the front of his undershirt, while the other had a firm hold of him through the front of his trousers.

"I said shut up."

Harry couldn't help it. He wanted to be angry, but a different kind of heat was rising in him. He squirmed a little bit and brought a hand up to grab the Doctor's wrist. He pulled at it, but the Doctor only gripped him tighter.

Harry chuckled. "Is that how it's going to be?"

There was a split second of hesitation in the Doctor's eyes, but he straightened his back a bit and retightened his grip. "Yes."

"Interesting." Harry grinned. "This is new."

And then he bolted. He shoved the Doctor off of him and ran. He wasn't entirely sure what the plan was after that, but he was sure he wouldn't get far anyway, so he dashed across the living room and to the stairs. He only made it up three steps before a hand grabbed him firmly by the ankle and he fell, his hip crashing into the wall beside him and leaving a considerable dent.

He noticed the way that the Doctor jumped in surprise and the little "oh!" sound that escaped him, and it made Harry grin. The Doctor wasn't used to filling this role and it was easy to tell that he was nervous about being too rough and hesitant to take anything a step further, so Harry encouraged him by turning onto his back and feebly kicking at him. It distracted the Doctor from noticing the damage to the wall and made sure that he knew that Harry was still up for the game.

Hands gripped his ankles with strength and pushed them aside. Harry put on a bit of an act to struggle, straining his legs and pushing at the Doctor's shoulders with his hands as the Doctor settled his body between Harry's legs and slid upward. The hands moved from his ankles to his wrists, gripping them firmly and forcing Harry's arms up over his head.

"Behave yourself," the Doctor growled at him, his face hovering just above Harry's skin and sending warm breath dancing across his neck. "Or I'll have to punish you."

The Doctor ground his body against him, an action that felt nice in the front and less nice in the back as the edges of stairs dug into his spine. He arched his back away from the steps and gasped, but Harry didn't even care that it hurt when he saw the way that noise made the Doctor grin.

"Good boy."

Harry squinted his eyes a bit, not entirely sure how he felt about that comment. He bucked up against the Doctor, struggling a bit harder than before and making his husband work to hold him down. The stairs were uncomfortable anyway, so he decided to get the Doctor off of him and make another run for it.

It was at that moment that he realized the Doctor was a little stronger than he had previously thought—apparently, he'd been working out. He thought that it would be easy to get away if he really wanted to and suddenly found that it wasn't. He kicked and struggled, but the Doctor was managing to hold both his wrists with one hand, using his other hand to shove at Harry's knees or pin him down by his hip. He could see, not to mention  _feel_ , that his fight for freedom was getting the Doctor even more excited and suddenly he felt quite annoyed by that.

He shot his head forward as though he intended to bite and it was enough to spook the Doctor. For just a second, he loosened his grip on Harry's wrists and leaned back a bit, giving Harry another to chance to shove him off. He scurried up the remaining stairs and bolted down the hallway.

The Doctor was even faster this time, and he barely got more than a few feet before the weight of the Doctor's body shoved him against the wall. It knocked the breath out of him for a second and the Doctor's hand on his throat made it nearly impossible to get that breath back. Another hand was tearing at his clothes and the Doctor's mouth found his own.

Harry needed to breathe and he didn't feel like letting the Doctor win so easily. He bit down on the Doctor's lip, earning a satisfying sound of surprise. He laughed at the scowl on the Doctor's face and ran again, gasping for air.

Harry ran for the bedroom. He expected the Doctor to catch him again, tackle him, or maybe even grab him and throw him on the bed. Instead, Harry ran into their bedroom and turned around to find the Doctor casually leaning in the doorway.

"Nowhere you can run now," he said softly.

Shivers ran down Harry's spine, seeing the way the Doctor's eyes slowly moved over him, like a predator eying its prey. He wasn't used to feeling like prey. He wasn't used to the Doctor looking at him like that.

He liked it.

"What are you going to do?" he asked in a defiant tone.

The Doctor's mouth twitched upward in one corner. He slipped inside the room, closed the door behind him, and locked it. Harry was about to remind him in the cockiest way possible that unlocking a door from the inside isn't difficult, when the Doctor pulled his screwdriver from his pocket and pulsed it a couple of times towards the door.

He really wouldn't be able to get out unless he managed to get a hold of that screwdriver.

"Whatever I like."

Harry actually caught himself taking a step backwards as the Doctor calmly walked towards him. He undid the buckle of his belt and then slowly slipped it out of all the loops. He looked directly into Harry's eyes as the strip of leather slid across the palm of his hand, wrapping the end of it around his hand once and gripping it tight.

"I should have known you were a biter," the Doctor said, shaking his head with a tsk-tsk. "I suppose I'll just have to train you first."

Harry looked his husband up and down. He'd already disposed of his shirt and he must have undone the button on his trousers when he removed his belt from the way they hung slightly open, emphasizing the noticeable bulge just beneath them. He was excited and curious, but he still had no idea what exactly he could expect.

"Before what?"

The Doctor moved the belt in his hands, slipping the end through the buckle and pulling until there was a decent loop of the end.  _A noose?_  Harry frowned slightly. No.

A leash.

"Bow your head," the Doctor said quietly.

Harry glared at him with a challenge in his eyes and raised his chin. "I'm not a dog."

And the Doctor slapped him.

It wasn't hard. It didn't even really hurt. But Harry blinked in complete and utter shock, his mouth slightly open as he touched his fingertips to the warm skin on his cheek. He looked up and saw that the Doctor's eyes were probably even wider than his own, with his hand over his mouth and suddenly looking very panicked.

"Harry, I—"

"Oh, come on," Harry interrupted. He made himself grin and chuckle, stopping the Doctor from slipping into apologizing mode. He didn't want the Doctor to apologize. He didn't want the Doctor to stop. Harry was absolutely surprised by this side of his husband, but he'd always liked surprises.

"That was pathetic, Doctor," he said in his best mocking tone. "If you ever intend to put a leash on  _me_ , you're going to have to do better than that."

The Doctor stared back at him a moment. His eyes were still wide and his lips moved wordlessly for a second. He was confused and surprised and his brain was still trying to catch up with what had just happened. Harry was beginning to suspect that the Doctor was just as surprised by the slap as he was.

"Go on then," Harry hissed, bringing back his old Saxon grin.

The Doctor's face changed again. He ran his hand through his own hair, switching back to the person he was a moment ago. The lines in his face tensed, his eyes suddenly harder. He stepped forward, forcing Harry back another couple of steps. His back was against the dresser now and he had nowhere to go.

"I told you to bow your head."

Harry narrowed his eyes, grinning a little wider. "And I said that I'm not a dog."

The Doctor hit him again, harder this time. He tried to keep his face from showing any surprise or pain—he didn't want to frighten the Doctor away from this new game just yet. He turned his head back to face him, glaring defiance.

"Is that the best you've got?"

Another slap. And this one was hard enough to knock him slightly off balance. He stumbled slightly, his face stinging from the impact, but something stopped him from falling. The Doctor had grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled, forcing Harry's spine to arch backwards. His hands shot up to try and pry the fingers away, but the Doctor held on firmly.

"Stop," the Doctor ordered.

Harry grinned through the pain. "Or what?"

He made a sound that could only be described as a yelp when the Doctor suddenly bit down on his neck.  _Hard_. The whole thing was a bit more painful than he had expected, especially because he had done similar things to the Doctor in the past. God, was Harry that rough with him when they did this kind of stuff before? He supposed that now he understood why it worked.

He pulled his hands away and held them up in a sign of surrender. The Doctor stopped applying pressure almost immediately but held Harry in his teeth for a moment, apparently savouring the victory. When the teeth released him, the hand in Harry's hair pulled again, though more gently this time. He recognized that he was being guided to get on his knees and, for once, he obeyed.

"Now you have to put it on yourself," the Doctor said softly, the thrill of the whole thing perfectly evident in his voice.

The belt was placed in Harry's hands and he hesitated a moment. He looked up at his husband's face and saw something completely alien and yet amazingly familiar in those eyes. He was enjoying himself, yes, but he was also afraid that he might do something wrong.

Harry smirked, attempting to reassure the other man, and slipped the loop over his head.

The Doctor's hand ran through his hair lovingly, gently stroking the side of his face that was still warm from being slapped, before sliding down his neck and grabbing hold of the end of the belt. The Doctor took a few steps in towards the bed, holding the belt casually, as though he had forgotten what was on the end of it.

Harry's instinct was to stand up to walk after him, but quickly realized that the Doctor had made him get on his knees for a reason. Something primal and angry stirred in his stomach at the thought of crawling, and it wanted him to turn this little game on its head and remind the Doctor of how easily the Master had made him beg in the past. And yet, the other part of him was enjoying it all and he found himself following on his hands and knees, without saying a word.

The only response he got for his obedience was a smirk and another gentle hand in his hair. The Doctor led him a couple steps more towards the wardrobe and Harry felt his hearts speed up slightly as the Doctor began to open its doors.

"Why don't we find a toy for you to play with, hmm?" the Doctor asked in a very innocent voice.

Harry kept a box in the bottom of that wardrobe—a box with all sorts of things inside. He'd used some of them himself, sure, but most of them had always been intended for him to use on the Doctor. He supposed that he shouldn't have been the least bit surprised when the Doctor pulled out the largest toy that he owned—a purple monstrosity that Harry had bought mostly because the head of it was comically large.

He knew from watching the Doctor that the thing was too much to be comfortable to start—that it definitely hurt—but that the Doctor had always managed to adjust after a time and enjoy it. That might have been a comforting thought if Harry wasn't looking up at his husband's height from hip level and realizing more than ever the difference in their general size.

Harry cleared his throat but didn't actually speak. The Doctor's eyes turned down to him and a wicked smile crept across his mouth.

"What's the matter?" the Doctor asked in a sickeningly sweet voice. "You don't like that one?"

He cleared his throat again, suddenly embarrassed. "Maybe not."

Mercifully, the Doctor put it back. Though, instead of picking out a new one, the Doctor simply picked up the whole box and started towards the bed. He sat down on the edge, placing the box on the mattress next to him.

"Now come here," he ordered, tugging sharply on the belt.

Harry moved, eagerly following the Doctor's direction as he tugged the belt upwards to bring them face to face. Their mouths met, and Harry felt a sudden rush from how passionately the Doctor kissed him, with one hand firmly gripping the belt to stop him from moving away.

Harry's hands landed lightly on the Doctor's knees and slid their way up his thighs. He half expected to have his hands slapped away, but the Doctor spread his legs a little wider in invitation and Harry continued on his way. When he took hold of the Doctor's length, it was obvious that he was more than ready to be touched—hard enough in Harry's hand that he was sure it must have been aching with anticipation.

The Doctor made an odd sound as Harry's hand began to move and suddenly everything he did seemed a little faster and a little more eager. He momentarily released the belt so that he could grab hold of Harry's shirt, stopping to rip it over his head and throw it to the far side of the room.

The Doctor grabbed and pulled at him with the same kind of desperation that he had downstairs. The narin mixed freely between them but the Doctor's mind was surrounded by high walls, keeping Harry locked out from knowing his thoughts. All he was able to feel from his husband's mind as the Doctor so eagerly explored his mouth was the intense  _need_.

The Doctor suddenly leaned backwards, tugging sharply on the belt around Harry's neck to pull him along. Harry stretched his body, trying to keep their mouths connected without getting up off of his knees. Apparently, that was the plan.

The Doctor's longer limbs meant that he was still able to reach Harry's waist and he hurriedly tore at the last of Harry's clothing. When Harry tried to pull away from the kiss, the belt was yanked forward again, holding him in place so that the Doctor could kiss him as he pleased and push his trousers out of the way.

He knew what was coming and somehow it still surprised him. The Doctor's hand slid around behind him and Harry pulled away from the Doctor's mouth with a sharp hiss as the toy entered him. It wasn't the purple joke that the Doctor had taken out before, but it was still more than Harry's body was used to taking.

It annoyed him how satisfied the Doctor looked as he watched the way Harry gritted his teeth and writhed. It annoyed him more to think of how many times he had carelessly jammed that same toy into the Doctor and that he always seemed to take it like it was nothing. In an instant, a stupid toy had suddenly made him feel  _weak_.

The Doctor wouldn't let him look away. He tugged on the belt to make Harry look in his eyes and watched as he struggled to force his body to relax.

"Does it hurt?" the Doctor asked softly.

Harry gritted his teeth. "No."

The corner of the Doctor's mouth twitched upward. "Good."

The toy was suddenly pulled out and shoved back in, not nearly as gently as when it had first been inserted. Harry's whole body jumped, and he wasn't quite able to stifle the shout that came from his mouth. The Doctor stifled the noise for him by slapping him across his face.

"Don't lie to me," the Doctor said in a low hiss. His right hand was still holding the toy, while his left briefly stroked his burning cheek on its way back to the belt it had let go of. "Does it hurt?" he repeated.

Fuck it, Harry decided. He wasn't going to lose so easily. He was going to show the Doctor that he could do better in this game, regardless of which role he played.

"No," he answered stubbornly.

"Good," the Doctor answered again.

Harry quickly prepared himself for whatever punishment was coming, determined not to react or cry out. Except that it didn't come. Harry opened his eyes and immediately felt furious at the smug look on the Doctor's face.

"Then you'll be fine doing that part yourself," the Doctor said next, all nonchalant as he released the toy in his hand and leaned back.

Harry glared at him. "Did you just tell me to go fuck myself?"

"Yes," the Doctor answered simply, turning his interest to the box beside him. He never released his grip on the belt, but his free hand slipped into the box and dug around. "And you will do as you're told."

Harry watched as his riding crop came into the light, the Doctor's fingers caressing its handle like he'd been waiting a long time to get his hands on it. Next, he removed Harry's black leather gloves and he finally released the belt in order to put them on—his hands were larger than Harry's, but the gloves still fit with a bit of wriggling.

The Doctor looked back down at him with a face of mock innocence and surprise. "You haven't started yet?" he asked, playing with the crop in his hands, twisting it and stroking it, getting a feel for it through the leather. "What's the matter? Is it too much for you?" His voice sounded sweet and innocent, but the wicked smile on his face showed something else entirely. "Do you need me to get you something a little easier to handle?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Absolutely not."

"Then allow me to motivate you."

The crop whipped the exposed skin on his backside sharply, making a nice and loud sound to match the sensation. Harry winced and bit his lip, refusing to let out any sound, but he still felt the Doctor harden even more in his hand.

"Do as you're told, Harold."

Another sharp whip, and another, and another. Harry finally reached back to take a hold of the toy and the Doctor let out a satisfied sigh, momentarily lowering the crop. He leaned back, toying with the crop in his hands, just watching. It felt better with Harry controlling the toy's movements—he could adjust the angle and speed to whatever felt best—but it was awkward to keep his balance on his knees with one arm reaching backwards and one reaching forward to stroke the Doctor.

As if he had had the same thought at the same time, the Doctor reached forward and grabbed the belt again. He pulled on it, giving it a sharp tug when Harry didn't immediately comply, and guided his head downwards. Harry shifted, releasing the Doctor's length and putting that hand on the floor to better balance himself, and took the hint to resume his work with his mouth.

The moment Harry's mouth took him in and his tongue set to work, the Doctor sighed again. "Oh, yes," he said, the leather of his gloves stroking Harry's naked back. "Very good."

Harry took a moment to pride himself in the sounds he was getting from his husband, showing off with his tongue and holding back his reflexes as he took in the full length of him. After a moment, he forgot that he was supposed to also be thrusting the toy inside of himself and another sharp crack from the riding crop reminded him. The Doctor moaned when he did it, and Harry could feel his growing excitement pulsating in his mouth.

After that, the Doctor was leaning forward as much as he could without interrupting Harry's work. His hungry eyes ate up the sight of Harry penetrating himself over and over while his hips began to rock slightly in rhythm with his head. Any time that Harry got distracted from one of his tasks, the Doctor was quick to strike him again.

"Keep going, Harry," the Doctor whispered to him.

He felt the Doctor take hold of the toy for just a moment and suddenly it began to vibrate inside of him. His body strained against the new sensation and he moaned, earning a sound of appreciation.

"Good," the Doctor whispered again. "Good. Keep going."

That gloved hand was resting on his back, gently encouraging his body to keep moving back and forth, simultaneously pleasuring himself and the Doctor. When he was good and managed both tasks without neglecting either one, the Doctor rewarded him by caressing his shevra gently with the soft tip of the riding crop. It sent shivers of pleasure through him and was often enough to distract him from something long enough to earn another whipping. Once, the riding crop struck his shevra and sent the most intense mix of pleasure and pain through his entire body that, for just a second, he froze up completely and did nothing but let out a loud moan.

He was starting to get close and it was getting harder to concentrate. The Doctor must have noticed too, because he stopped whipping him as punishment and instead gripped the belt, yanking on it to force Harry upward again. Without being told, he quickly put both hands behind his back, gripping the toy so that he could lower himself onto it with increasing speed.

The belt strained against his neck as his back began to arch and the riding crop slid over his skin as though it were looking for a weak spot. The supple leather of the crop's end traced across his throat and down his chest, slid down his belly, even teased the head of his shaft as he moved with increasing speed. Suddenly it cracked down on the top of his thigh and earned the Doctor another cry of pleasure and pain.

"Come for me," the Doctor ordered. The belt tightened. The crop struck at his thighs again and again as the Doctor's voice spoke to him in a low growl. " _Come for me_."

Harry's body seized up again, his back arching forward as every muscle in him strained. His seed spilled freely but the Doctor seemed more interested in watching it than worrying about where it landed, so Harry did nothing to change it.

He was barely even finished before the Doctor lunged forward, pulled the toy out and tossed it away, and grabbed Harry by the hips to drag him up onto his lap. Before Harry had even come back to his senses, the Doctor had turned him around and pulled him roughly down onto him, penetrating him anew.

The Doctor had been known to lose himself to passion, but Harry had never been taken like this before. The Doctor's fingers held his hips like a steel trap and he thrust into him harder and more aggressively than he'd ever done in the past. From the noises he was making, it sounded like he was enjoying it a lot more than in the past too.

His breathing sped up, noises kept escaping him. Harry tried to assist him by moving on his own, but the sharp slap on his ass told him that apparently that wasn't what the Doctor wanted. He held still after that and allowed the Doctor to do what he would, but then he got slapped again. A third, and it was starting to hurt. Finally, the Doctor bit down on his shoulder and Harry jumped from the sudden pain, crying out in surprise.

The Doctor's teeth released him almost immediately. "Yes," he groaned in a low voice.

"Yes," Harry echoed, realizing what the Doctor wanted from him. "Do it again."

Teeth sunk into him and he willingly cried out, struggling just enough to make the Doctor work for it. It hurt like hell but Harry didn't care, not when he could feel the Doctor's body beginning to quiver. The Doctor released him and bit down again on his other shoulder, letting out an animalistic growl as he did so and thrust into Harry even harder than before.

Then, suddenly he let go, leaning back and away from Harry as he thrust upward. He gasped for breath—noises and groans escaping him freely as his muscles began to tighten up. The Doctor's fingers dug in deep, clamping down with bruising force, and he pushed himself in deep as he finally released. Harry listened with satisfaction to the unrestrained groan that escaped him and felt as the body beneath him shuddered uncontrollably.

Finally, the Doctor relaxed and Harry felt his forehead drop against his back. The Doctor panted, quietly trying to catch his breath, and his hands slid forward to pull Harry closer possessively. The leather gloves caressed his front for a moment before the Doctor stopped to rip them off, wanting to touch Harry with his own skin again. The game was over now.

Suddenly, reality came back. And the reality was that the Doctor had been gone for two months and something was wrong.

He recognized the way that the Doctor clung to him, and it was more of an expression of fear than affection. He was locking Harry out of his mind, trying to hide his thoughts, and clinging to him tightly from behind, trying to hide his face. Harry leaned back against him and gave the Doctor a moment or two to sort himself out before he stood up.

"So," Harry said as casually as he could manage as he collected a towel. "That was . . . quite different."

He stole a quick glance down at his legs, noting the bright red marks on the fronts of his thighs. Some would fade within minutes, some would last until morning, and he knew that some would bruise and last for days. It made him wonder what he looked like from the back.

"You're always encouraging me to try new things," the Doctor answered with a half-hearted smile and a shrug. "You know, spice things up."

Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow. "That's it?" he asked as he climbed onto the bed. "It seemed a bit much for your first try if you were just being spontaneous."

"You didn't like it?"

"You know that's not what I'm saying."

"Honestly, Harry, I thought you were enjoying yourself."

"Stop changing the subject."

"I'm not! I wanted to try it, so I did. If you didn't like it, just say so."

"John."

The Doctor shot him a glare. "Don't call me that," he muttered in annoyance. "Not you. Not when we're alone."

"Don't play pretend with me then and I won't use your pretend name."

The Doctor continued scowling, but Harry recognized the subtle shift in the muscles on his face. He would give in—if not now, then in a little while. Harry waited patiently while his husband got up from the bed and made a quick attempt to deal with the mess they'd made.

"Well, these are ruined," he said with a sigh when he removed his trousers and quickly tossed them off to the corner. "Alright. Turn over then, so I can look at you."

Harry hesitated for a moment. Whenever he and the Doctor got into some rough play, Harry always checked him over afterwards to make sure that no real damage had been done. He could feel the multiple bruises and red marks on his backside and wasn't sure if the Doctor was entirely prepared to face what he'd done. But there was no way around it.

With a sigh, Harry shifted and laid down on stomach, earning a response that he completely expected.

"Blimey!" the Doctor gasped, sounding genuinely surprised. "Why'd you let me do that? Look at it!"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone seemed to be enjoying it at the time."

"Oh . . ." the Doctor said softly, and Harry felt his fingertips touching him gently on his back, soft lips touching a particularly tender spot. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't think—"

"If I didn't like it, I would have stopped you," Harry interrupted sharply. "Don't get mopey on me. Just make it feel better."

"Of course," the Doctor answered quickly. "Of course, Lahrre."

Harry closed his eyes and enjoyed the gentle touches and soft kisses—silent apologies for any harm done. This was the Doctor he knew, and Harry was glad to have him back.

Eventually, the Doctor settled down on top of him, skin to skin. He had been careful to avoid putting his weight on any of Harry's new bruises and pecked light kisses between his shoulder blades. One hand slid beneath Harry's chest, as if it would somehow hold him closer, and the other reached up to entwine its fingers with Harry's, and the Doctor laid his head down. A long moment passed as they breathed together, and Harry knew that he was just trying to find the words.

"Cassie's dead."

Harry blinked and, before he could stop himself, he spoke. "You don't like Cassie."

"Of course I liked her!" the Doctor hissed in return. Harry waited a moment while the Doctor took a couple of breaths and calmed himself. "Okay, she annoyed the hell out of me. But I've worked with her for years. She was my teammate. She was one of _mine_. I was supposed to protect her. I should've—" He cut himself off, realizing again how quickly he had become angry and trying to bring himself back down. "In the morning, her daughters are going to get phone calls from a stranger who doesn't understand what their words are doing to them."

Harry took a breath to let that sink in. How close had he come to receiving that same phone call?

"Were you taken?" he asked.

"Hostage," the Doctor answered with bitterness in his voice. "My own stupidity."

Harry frowned. The Doctor had been taken captive for two months and UNIT didn't think that they should tell him?

"What were they trying to trade you for?"

"Kelevra was a prisoner too. We were working together to get out when the rescue team showed up," the Doctor continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "She just wouldn't listen to me. I told her what to do—what  _not_  to do. She wouldn't listen. Kept saying she had to follow protocol. She triggered a trap when she called the rest of her team and the room was gassed. I watched her choke."

Harry could feel the Doctor's body on his back and the way its muscles were tensing. This had hurt him more than Harry had thought. "I'm sorry, Lahrre."

"That stupid, stubborn woman," the Doctor growled under his breath. "I  _told_  her. If she had just done what I'd said . . ."

Harry sighed. "You can't control everything, Doctor."

"I could have stopped them. I could have been home the same day. If I'd fought them—if I'd had the Beast, I could have ended the whole thing before I was even taken."

"You mean you could have killed people?"

And the Doctor answered too easily, "I could have kept us all safe."

_ Hostage _ . Who in all the universe would take the  _Doctor_  hostage in order to trade him? With the Doctor's reputation, what could his captors have possibly thought was worth more to them?

"Where are they now?" Harry asked quietly. "What did they want?"

The Doctor sighed, but in a way that sounded sleepy and content instead of frustrated. His muscles relaxed against Harry and he landed a soft kiss on Harry's shoulder. He answered in a near whisper and it wasn't difficult for Harry to translate what his words actually meant.

"They're gone."

_ They're dead. _

"We're safe."

_ They came for you. _


	21. 2030 - The Price

**2030**

Temptation can lead a person to do truly awful things. Anger could lead a person to do something unspeakably cruel. Fear could lead a person to do something incredibly dangerous. But love was by far the worst.

Love, as they say, knows no bounds.

Harry loved his husband enough to do anything to save him. He loved his son enough to bend and break every rule he had ever known to keep him safe. In ways, he loved J.J. too, and the boy had waited too long to be fed.

"It's good," J.J. murmured between mouthfuls, greedily ripping more meat free before he'd even finished chewing.

"That's because it's fresh," Harry answered.

He sat stiffly on his stone seat, trying to keep his suit clean from the muddy filth of the riverbank, with J.J.'s clothes folded neatly on his lap. The pool of blood had stretched towards him at first, but quickly sank into the earth before reaching his polished leather shoes.

"Have you ever eaten one?" J.J. asked, his voice sounding young and innocent even as it joined the sound of flesh ripping. "It's better than rabbit or deer. Not as good as duck though."

Harry felt himself twitch uncomfortably and gazed off into the trees. "Yes, I've tried it and I'd have to agree."

"Did you want some, sir?"

Harry turned back to see J.J. crouched in the moonlight, chin raised in submission, holding out a dripping strip of muscle. His golden eyes glinted and reflected eerily in the dark and the blood on his long fangs cast back moonlight and shone. Right now, he looked more animal than man. The look suited him well.

"No, thank you."

Harry had felt temptation the day that he met Joshua Stern—when that vicious, smug little man stood in Harry's office and threatened to expose him. He had felt tempted to snap his pathetically weak neck and watch the light go out of his eyes. But Harry was not that man anymore, and Josh hadn't been the first person that would rant about aliens hidden in plain sight to the world.

He felt anger the day that the Doctor reported meeting the same man and was given the same threats. He was angrier still when Ganbri called with a slightly panicked voice, asking his Tokrah to pick him up because some strange man was following him. A lunatic in his face was nothing but an amusing inconvenience, but one who was following his family was a threat. The police were called but, apparently, they could do nothing more than question him.

He felt fear when the Doctor did. Mr. Stern's determination was beginning to cross lines he shouldn't have even been approaching. Ganbri was uncomfortable going out alone and would often wait until someone else was leaving the house to tag along. Donna called them up and said some man had been prowling around her house too, scaring Annabelle half to death and nearly getting in a fistfight with Shaun. Josh was threatening their children and it didn't seem that his threats were idle.

It was after that day that he learned where Mr. Stern had come from. The year before, the Doctor had been taken captive by a group of bounty hunters, looking to trade him in for the infamous Master, earning the last pay day they would ever need. The Doctor sabotaged their life support systems, and they suffocated in the Earth's poison atmosphere.

Joshua Stern was the last. A human who had been taken by mistake and allowed to join the crew. He had no ship, no plan, no partners, and no way of reaching any sort of galactic authority, but he still had his heart set on that pay day.

Finally, Harry felt love so strong that it hurt on the day that he found the Doctor with the Beast. The Beast was still dormant and asleep, its black skin slowly rippling with waves of grey and blue. But the Doctor was visibly shaken and afraid, touching his fingers to the dark skin in search of comfort.

"He grabbed Ganbri today," the Doctor had told him. "Actually grabbed him. Ganbri had to fight him off. Why would he do that? What if he was planning to take him? What will he try next time?"

The Doctor's love would drive him to waken the Beast again if something wasn't done. Harry's love wouldn't allow that to happen.

And so it was that he sat beside a lazy river in the middle of the night. Stern had somehow gotten the idea that he would be safest to camp in the woods until he had come up with the next step in his plan. Considering that Stern seemed convinced that he knew of every trick up "Saxon's" sleeve, Harry was a bit surprised that he hadn't guarded himself more against telepathic influence.

Stern had been warned. As Harry was telepathically convincing Stern that camping would be a good idea, he was verbally telling him that if he understood who Harry was, then he understood the kind of danger he was facing. There were billions of humans on Earth, Harry told him, and they go missing all the time. This was fair, Harry decided.

J.J.'s only question was, "Is he armed?"

When the body was eventually found, it would simply look like an animal attack. Even if someone was a little too good at their job and started digging around, the truth was so bizarre to humans that it would never stick.

J.J. went for a swim when he had finished his meal, washing the blood from his skin and hair in the river. He would carry no evidence with him when they left, except for the contents of his stomach.

The boy had no shame as he emerged from the water, carefully stepping from stone to stone so as not to leave footprints in the mud. He didn't bother to cover himself. He didn't bother to hide the way he stared at the body with a look of longing. He moved through the woods with an easy grace, as though he were more comfortable there, naked and freshly fed on hot blood, than he had ever been clothed in a house with bread in his belly.

After a short distance, there was a rock big enough to stand and move around on, and it was there that J.J. chose to get dressed. The wet footprints he left on the stone's face would dry up soon enough, but footprints on the ground may have hung around until someone else came looking.

"Are there more?" J.J. asked, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Not as far as I know."

The boy nodded with approval. "Then the family is safe."

Harry nodded slowly in return. "The family is safe."

"We can't tell any of them. They can't handle this sort of thing," J.J. said casually as he slipped his watch over his wrist. "A dog bites somebody and gets killed. A bear gets too comfortable in the city and gets killed. As soon as it's a human that needs dealing with everybody gets all jumpy, even Jack sometimes."

Harry nodded slowly, wishing he could think of it so simply. He would never be able to explain it like that to the Doctor if he ever found out. He would never be able to explain to Ganbri or Jack. Part of him reminded himself that it had been J.J.'s idea and Harry had simply agreed, but it wasn't good enough.

This was his own decision, he knew. He chose for Joshua Stern to die this way, no matter what excuses he made. But if he hadn't made that choice, the Doctor would have, and the darkness that had slowly been infecting him since he first controlled the Beast would grow. Harry would gladly carry the burden on his own conscience and the black mark on his already stained soul if it meant that the Doctor wouldn't have to.

"We can't tell them," Harry agreed. "This never happened. And it never happens again."

J.J. looked at him oddly for a moment, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Why was he after you?" he asked, leaning forward and whispering as though it were a secret. "You only tell us that you made mistakes, but I've seen you fight. I've seen people who are terrified of you. What did you do?"

Harry looked straight into those golden eyes with a hard glare and nodded his head in the direction that they had left the body. "What did _you_ do?"

J.J.'s smirk widened slightly and he pushed a button on his watch. With a flicker of light, the fangs had disappeared and the golden gleam had gone his eyes. A human man looked at him now, with nothing remarkable about his brown eyes or freckles.

"Not a damn thing," J.J. answered. "Sir."


	22. 2031 - The Ghost of Saint Edmund's Hall, Part 1

** 2031 **

"What do you think?" Uncle Jack asked, solemnly handing over the paperwork.

Ganbri looked it over carefully, frowning and trying to think of ways that the information could have been stolen. A lot of it was nonsensical—barely legible scribbles dotted all over the place, things scratched out and replaced with words that made no sense—but the basic idea . . .

"He knows what he's talking about," Ganbri answered. "I don't think this is copied. There are things on here that we haven't even figured out yet."

Jack nodded slowly in agreement, not taking his eyes off the man on the other side of the glass. He nodded his head towards the other window to their right. "And the girl?"

"Her work is similar to his, but not the same. They might have worked together, but I don't think either one carried the other."

"So they're both geniuses?"

"Yes, sir."

Jack huffed, sounding irritated but looking impressed. He leaned back a bit, tearing his eyes away to glance over his shoulder for just a second. "Kel?"

"Tests say they're human," Kelevra shouted from his temporary workstation at the back of the room. "Same as the last tests, and the ones before that. I'm beginning to suspect that they might actually be humans, you know. On Earth of all places."

"Thank you, Kel. I don't need the sarcasm."

"Don't worry. The sarcasm is free."

Jack huffed again, scratching his chin with his thumbnail. "Listen, I've got a meeting. I need you to handle this."

"Of course."

"Send J.J. in."

"So soon, sir?"

"Yeah," Jack answered, walking away as though he were no longer interested. "They want in? See if we actually want 'em."

Within minutes, J.J. was entering the first room. Ganbri stood on the other side of the glass, which would appear as a mirror on the inside, to watch what happened. Some people thought they could handle aliens no problem, right up until they were faced with one.

Douglas Burke was a big man—6'3" and broad shouldered. Ganbri knew that if he worked out a bit, he could be truly frightening to look at, but you wouldn't know it from how meek he looked now. He didn't get up from his seat when J.J. entered the room. He just sat there, eying him carefully and waiting to see what happened. J.J. tossed a knife onto the table in front of him, well within Doug's reach. When the shimmer was suddenly turned off and J.J.'s eyes glowed gold and his teeth gleamed viciously, there was a brief moment of silence. Douglas still didn't reach for the knife.

Instead, he grinned.

"Holy shit," he chuckled. "You're like a werewolf or something? For real? Let me see those suckers."

The big man got up from his chair and approached J.J. fearlessly, the knife on the table forgotten. Ganbri recognized the split second in which J.J. had to resist the urge to bolt, and then he relaxed. Within a moment, he was proudly pulling back his lips to show off his fangs and the two were laughing together.

Celeste Burke was a slightly different story, though the two looked very alike. They shared the same short blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and the look of being a bit too underweight to be healthy. Celeste was just a hair under six feet tall and lean where her younger brother was broad. However, where Doug was relaxed and quick to trust, Celeste was cautious.

J.J. repeated the same test, tossing a knife in front of her and removing his shimmer. Celeste didn't so much as twitch. She appeared completely calm, simply taking a deep breath and watching J.J. through the corner of her eye. Still, J.J. kept a considerable distance and Ganbri recognized his stance and body language enough to know that the Alreesh was seeing a threat that Ganbri couldn't see.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked quietly. "Are you going to kill my brother?"

She still hadn't reached for the knife.

"Torchwood does whatever is necessary for the protection of Earth."

"Killing us wouldn't be necessary."

J.J. tilted his head slightly. "No?"

"No." Celeste rose from her seat and slowly picked up the knife using just the ends of her fingers, the lack of grip showing that she wasn't intending to use it.

Ganbri could see that J.J.'s muscles tensed slightly as she turned toward him and stepped closer. The Alreesh stood his ground, but Celeste simply towered over him.

"Trying to scare me won't work," she said angrily, and threw the knife down at his feet hard enough to make it stick in the floor. "Fuck you." Then she pushed past him and went out the door.

Ganbri hadn't been aware of Kelevra standing a few feet behind him, also watching, until he spoke a moment later. "Do you think she made him cry?"

"That or made him fall in love with her."

Kel gasped happily and rubbed his hands together. "I'm hoping for both. Wouldn't that be fun? A little drama in the office?"

Ganbri shook his head and began walking forward. "How old are you, seriously?"

"I don't know. Thirty?"

He frowned and glanced back, realizing that Kel was looking down at his own hands. His newest body was a white male that looked to be around thirty years old.

"That's . . . not what I meant."

Celeste was stuck in the hallway that joined the interview room with the observation lounge because the door needed a security card to open. Ganbri could see J.J. leaning against the wall in the interview room, apparently not wanting to come out, which meant that she wouldn't be able to open the door. That didn't stop her from trying though.

The door opened and revealed that Celeste had opened the security panel, with a credit card and several hair pins between her teeth, a pair of tweezers in one hand and what looked like a small magnet in the other. She looked up at Ganbri with enormous blue eyes that widened in surprise and quickly pulled the items out of her mouth.

"I thought it was another test," she blurted. "He didn't come out with me and the door was locked. I thought I was supposed to open it."

Ganbri sighed. "Just . . . put it back together."

Celeste nodded and immediately set back to work. Ganbri left her a moment to poke his head into the interview room, where J.J. was still leaning against the wall, looking rather unhappy.

"Kel wants to know if you're gonna cry."

"Fuck off."

"You want me to get you some tissues?"

"Okay, you know what?" Jack snapped, pointing a finger and stepping forward. "I got sent in here with a woman that is  _twice_  my fucking size and thought I was threatening her and her kin. If she was standing over you like that, you would have shit yourself, so you can take your smarmy little attitude—"

"Okay, okay, calm yourself."

Nista narrowed his eyes at him, his lip pulling back slightly. "You piss me off so much sometimes."

"It helps you appreciate how charming I am the rest of the time," Ganbri answered with a grin. "So, we keeping both of them?"

"Yeah," J.J. nodded, his lip relaxing back over his teeth. "Take them to Dex so he can start the paperwork. I'm going out for a smoke."

Celeste had put the panel back together when Ganbri stepped out. He explained to her as he led her through the door that frightening her and Douglas was necessary to see if their first reaction to fear is to attack. When it came to intergalactic contact, it was important to have people who could keep control of themselves in the face of danger, and to only react with aggression when perceived danger is proven real and self-defence necessary.

Doug was sitting in the little chair by Kel's temporary work station where they'd left him, happily chatting away with the good doctor. The moment Ganbri and Celeste approached, he grinned widely and stood up.

"So are we in?"

"For now," Ganbri answered. "We'll wait a bit to see if you can manage before it's set in stone but consider this your probation period."

Doug's grin widened, and he held his hand out. Ganbri thought he was going for a handshake, but Celeste cut in to high-five him, followed by a fist bump. Ganbri blinked at the two of them, but Kel let out a little sound of delight.

"Oh, I like that!" he said happily, and then proceeded to hold out his hand to Doug and copy it.

"So was that guy really an alien?" Doug asked as he bumped fists with Kelevra. "Or was that some kind of trick?"

"No, that's really what he looks like."

Celeste glanced between Ganbri and Kelevra suspiciously. "You guys are human though, right?"

Ganbri just smiled awkwardly.

"Bullshit!" Doug barked. " _Really_? What about the Captain?"

"Technically human."

"Also, technically an alien," Kel added.

Celeste crossed her arms and eyed them both up again, as if looking for some sign of a tentacle or antennae. "So we're the only humans then?"

"Declan's human," Ganbri answered, beginning to walk again and gesturing for them to follow him. "I actually need to take you to meet him now. He handles our admin stuff, so he can give you security passes and set you up with some weapons."

"Weapons?" Celeste asked in surprise. "We're computer techs."

"And people in Torchwood die. You'll work with the computers, but this isn't an office job. You'll be expected to go in the field, just like the rest of us. There  _will_  be danger, you  _will_  need to defend yourself, and people die." He paused and looked at the expressions on their faces. "You still want in?"

Doug immediately puffed up his chest and tried to look even taller than his already significant size. "I've always wanted to learn to shoot."

"We're in," Celeste confirmed.

Declan had taken refuge in one of the areas that was still being constructed. The stone walls emanated a bone-chilling cold and his desk was some sort of cheap folding table that was barely big enough for his computer and a cup of coffee to sit on. He was hunched over it and typing so quickly that it sounded like his keyboard was ready to fall apart.

He looked up over the screen as they entered, and his face immediately changed to one of suspicion. "Who's this?"

"New recruits," Ganbri answered. "This is Celeste and Doug Burke. They're gonna help you with the computer systems. Guys, this is Declan Davies. He was the new Torchwood's first recruit and he's been mostly responsible for setting up headquarters."

"Yeah, yeah, it's all very nice, but I don't have time for this, Ganbri," Declan answered irritably, his fingers never ceasing on his keyboard. "I needed to be gone half an hour ago."

"Are you working on the Saint Edmund's Hall algorithm?"

"Jack thinks there's going to be another event in the next week or so and I'm not allowed to leave until I get this thing sorted out."

"Yeah, these guys did that already."

Declan abruptly stopped typing and looked over the computer screen again. "What?"

"That's why we're hiring them," Ganbri answered, smirking. "They found us and dropped the algorithm right in Jack's lap. The next event is tonight."

"And Jack didn't think to tell me this?" he barked, incredulous.

Ganbri shrugged his shoulders.

"Great. That's just great. I might miss the birth of my first child because that little detail must have slipped Jack's mind," Declan stood up from his chair and quickly shook both of the Burkes' hands. "What were your names? Celeste and Doug? Right, you two may have just saved me from having a coronary. As it happens, I'm not doing anymore paperwork today! I sort of have this thing to get to. Rather important."

"Laura's in labour?"

"Must have slipped Jack's mind to tell you, I guess." Declan was already grabbing his jacket off his chair and shutting down his computer. "Either way, you've got the algorithm. The paperwork can wait. Have fun without me, yeah?"

"But the event is  _tonight_."

Declan paused for just a second, blinking. "You can handle it," he said quickly.

" _Dex_."

"Oh, bloody hell, Ganbri, you've been on enough runs already to know the deal. Take J.J. with you and you'll be fine! Actually, take these two with you. You can show them the ropes, they can witness the Ghost for themselves, and I get to not be strangled by Laura for missing the birth. Everybody wins!"

Ganbri shifted uncomfortably. He didn't want to say it in front of the new recruits, but neither he nor J.J. had ever been allowed to go on a solo mission before. They were always accompanied by either Declan or Jack. His parents would not be happy to find out. . .

"Listen. The Ghost is always just an observation mission. You just take out the equipment, get as much data as you can before it disappears, and then you bring it back." His jacket was on and he was heading for the exit, clapping Ganbri on the shoulder as he passed. " _Nothing_  is going happen. You'll be  _fine_."

That should have tipped him off right there.

After a brief tour, Ganbri allowed Doug and Celeste to sit in his meeting with J.J. and Kelevra. They still had plenty of time before the predicted event to go over what was expected and what to do, so they settled in with a stack of notes and a few drinks to cover the basics.

"So, reports of the Ghost of Saint Edmund's Hall first started popping up in June of 2006. Reports always describe the Ghost as tall, thin, and translucent white. It's always seated on the bench next to the statue of Saint Edmund in the graveyard outside of what is now the school's library and it mimics the pose of that same statue. Most reports say that the Ghost never moves, speaks, or interacts in anyway, with a few exceptions."

He shuffled through the stack of papers on the table in front of him, pulling out a series of photographs.

"Obviously, the stories didn't mean anything to anyone at first—just figured the students were getting stressed from the end of year exams. But on Christmas day in 2010, someone got a photo of it."

Doug leaned forward and eyed the picture closely. "I've seen this one. Most people agree it's a fake."

"It's not fake," Kel added, staring at the picture almost serenely.

"How do you know?" Celeste asked, cocking her head to the side.

"We know a pretty damn good telepath who asked the photographer some questions," J.J. answered, causing Doug to sit up straight and drop his mouth open.

"You guys know someone who's telepathic!?"

"A few actually," Kel answered, smiling pleasantly. "Ganbri being one. But he doesn't like to brag."

". . . Yeah," Ganbri cleared his throat. "Never mind that. The majority of the reports on the sightings were consistent, and this photo shows exactly what was described—a thin, translucent figure mimicking the statue next to it. The person who took this photo said the figure was perfectly still, as if it were also a statue, and that it disappeared after a couple of minutes. More and more reports came in but, as the years passed, sightings were reported more frequently and the duration of the Ghost's presence was lasting longer with each visit. More and more photos surfaced."

He tossed more photos onto the table top. The position and pose of the Ghost was exactly the same in them all.

"Videos too," J.J. added. "You've probably seen them. People try to touch it and their hands go right through it. Like it doesn't exist. We thought maybe it was just an image being sent to Earth from somewhere else in space or time—a message of some sort—but nobody could figure out what it means."

"In 2024, circumstances allowed for Captain Harkness to begin investigating the Ghost. Its appearances were lasting nearly two hours at that point, but the Ghost seems to vanish early if there are more than just a few people present, which might explain why it has rarely ever been seen during the day."

"We started looking into it five years ago," Celeste said quietly. "I touched it—well, I tried to. Everything just passes through it. You kind of expect it to at least feel cold, but it's not even that. It's nothing."

"That's when we remembered the Battle of Canary Wharf," Doug blurted happily, standing up from his seat and excitedly shuffling through the papers for the notes that he had contributed. "People thought a bunch of ghosts were appearing before then too. It doesn't really explain why this thing doesn't move or anything, but there are definitely similarities. And look! Just look!"

Ganbri sat down in his seat and let Doug proudly show off his work. Pages and pages of equations slipped through his fingers as he held out a page covered in so many scribbles that it was hard to read.

"We started tracking the appearances. It's not just showing up more often and for longer periods. It's doing it in  _predictable patterns_!"

"Like the ghosts before Canary Wharf," Celeste added quietly. "Which could walk through walls and pass through objects like they didn't exist. Until they did."

"There were all these rumours flying around that Torchwood had something that was letting them through. Some people say it was a gate, other people have said it was some kind of ship, and some people say  _they_  didn't even know what it . . ." Doug trailed off, his voice slowing to a stop as he glanced around the table. "Well, shit, you guys  _are_  Torchwood."

Ganbri smiled and pulled out another photograph of an enormous bronze sphere. "It was a void ship," he said. "It could be seen and photographed but that was it. It had no mass or weight of magnetic fields. It couldn't be detected on any piece of equipment that Torchwood had, but it  _did_  exist. When it was ready, it came through the void, into our world from another, and caused the Battle."

"Well, what about that Doctor guy?" Doug asked, frowning.

Ganbri blinked. "Excuse me?"

"We've spent a long time digging into whatever information on Torchwood we could get," Celeste explained. "There were files that reported someone called the Doctor showed up and warned Torchwood. He understood what was happening _and_ apparently stopped it. The word 'Doctor' shows up everywhere when you get into this stuff. We always assumed that he was affiliated with Torchwood."

Ganbri glanced over at J.J., who simply raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders a bit. "He's, uh, not exactly on the payroll," Ganbri said slowly. "But he is considered an ally of Torchwood."

Celeste's eyes lit up. "Have you met him?"

"He used to give us piggy-back rides when we were kids," J.J. blurted with a grin.

" _What_?"

"Nothing," J.J. answered quickly. "Sorry, just a stupid joke."

Doug glanced back and forth between J.J. and Ganbri, and Ganbri could feel those blue eyes piercing into him and extracting information. "Is he in on this?"

"He's been to see the Ghost and consulted with us," Ganbri answered as calmly as possible, trying not to let his face give anything away. "He confirmed that the Ghost has traces of the void accompanying it."

"Holy shit," Doug said, glancing at his sister with widened eyes. "Well . . . well, shit."

Kelevra smiled widely. "Well put."

"During the last two years, small fluctuations in the data have been appearing," Ganbri continued, pulling out more pages of calculations and notes. "Changes so sensitive that no Earthly instruments have picked them up yet, but they  _are_  happening. When the Ghost appears, there are slight adjustments in the ambient magnetic fields and even gravity. The Ghost is beginning to show signs of actual existence."

"Jesus, it's coming through," Celeste said breathlessly.

"We were last able to observe it four months ago and Dr. Presley here accompanied us. He has a unique ability to detect electrical impulses, and he was able to detect some very faint activity that night."

"Brain waves," Kelevra said suddenly. "I could sense it thinking. It's alive."

Doug and Celeste swore in unison.

"Yeah," J.J. said with a nod. "It kinda threw our whole image or message idea out the window."

"Obviously, at this point, we have several questions," Ganbri continued, gathering the papers back together in his hands. "Where is it coming from and why? Why has it taken it years and years to make it through? Why does it disappear if too many people are observing it? And how long do we have before it crosses over?"

"I thought it was a hologram," Celeste said quietly, sinking back into her seat a little. "I mean, I figured it was from another world but . . . I didn't think it was alive. What  _is_  it?"

"I totally knew it was an alien," Doug declared proudly, crossing his arms over. "I told her. Three years ago, I said it was an alien, didn't I?"

"Kelevra is coming with us to see if he can pick up any more electrical activity," J.J. explained, standing up from the table and stretching. "Ganbri's going to try to pick up any coherent thoughts. We'll show you guys how to manage some of the equipment so you can help collect data. And, since I'm the only who  _can_ , I'll be driving and making sure you guys don't get yourselves killed. Savvy?"

Kel's smile widened as he looked up at J.J. "I think we'll all make a great team. This'll be fun!"

Nista returned the comment with an oddly wide smile of his own. "Only if you stop smiling like that all the time. It's fucking creepy, Kel."

The company van was pretty big on the inside, but Doug and Celeste were pretty damn big too. Ganbri sat in the back seat, which was usually spacious enough for three people easy, but it was a significant squeeze with his current companions. Kel sat in the front, happily watching out the windows and occasionally glancing at J.J. or into the back. Ganbri noticed that he seemed to be putting some effort into smiling less.

Rain clouds were forming up ahead, blotting out the stars, but the roads were clear of fog.

"When we get there, we need to seal off the area," Ganbri explained, digging through the bag he had brought along and pulling out rolls of police tape. "We can't risk too many people poking around and scaring it off."

Doug sat silently for a moment, blinking and staring at the several items of equipment that had already been placed in his hands. "I'm in a car with three aliens," he said slowly. "About to use alien tech in an actual  _Torchwood_  investigation . . . Do you know that this morning I was just hoping to get to give the Captain my card?"

Doug continued talking for the rest of the drive, while Celeste stayed almost completely silent. Ganbri didn't like it. This whole experience was a very sudden change for them and he was beginning to worry that they might be slipping into shock. Whatever the case was, they did seem able to move and follow instructions easily enough when they got to the site.

The area was already blocked from the street by a stone wall surrounding the old churchyard, but the gate leading in was large, made of nothing but thin bars, and gave a direct view of the bench where the Ghost appeared. J.J. parked the van right in front of the gate, hoping to block the view as best as he could. Doug and Celeste set to work taping off any other areas that a person might enter the yard.

The rain was coming down in a light sprinkle when, a whole forty-five minutes before the Ghost's predicted arrival, Kelevra's voice caught his attention. "We have company."

Ganbri turned away from the equipment he was setting up to look. And there it was.

The figure looked exactly the same as it had in all the pictures and it was perfectly still, like it was just a photograph projected into reality, but somehow it was different to see it in person. It sat like a misshapen reflection of the statue next to it—its limbs a little too long, its back a little too hunched, and a body that looked slightly more emaciated than Saint Edmund himself. Where the statue had a short crop of hair, this thing had a full mop of it, shaggy and unkempt. It was rather too big all around to match the statue properly, and the joints in its hands, elbows, and knees appeared swollen or arthritic. Its stony, blank eyes were enormous orbs without pupils or irises, while the mouth seemed slightly too small for the rest of it. And its whole body was softly glowing white, in contrast to the solid dark bronze beside it.

J.J. eyed it sceptically. "It's early."

"The algorithm must be off a bit," Celeste admitted quickly. "Who knows how many times this thing showed up without anyone knowing? We could only work with the data we had."

Ganbri stepped closer, eying the odd figure curiously. He'd always thought it was strange that it appeared to be mimicking the statue and yet it hadn't mimicked the statue's book. Nor was the figure wearing proper robes like the statue was, but what looked like a baggy shirt and trousers that sat in a very similar way. Why were those details different?

He glanced around the yard and thought of how many people must walk through here every day. How many people had observed the Ghost? How many people had the Ghost observed back?

"I can sense it," Kelevra announced. "Oh. It's much more active than last time."

"We're picking up changes in the magnetic field," Celeste reported. "It's weak but it's growing—catching up to the last event."

"Gravitational shifts as well," Doug said next, shifting from one foot to the other in excitement. "Holy shit, this thing is affecting  _our_  world's gravity!"

Ganbri stretched his mind towards the Ghost, feeling for whatever activity Kelevra was picking up. He could just sense the faintest of presences, like the softest whisper. He watched as rain drops fell through the figure as though it were nothing but mist and tried to get a stronger grasp on the presence.

"Ganbri," Nista called out. "I'm getting a heat reading!"

Ganbri felt his hearts beat a little faster. They'd never had a heat reading before.

"Oh!" Kelevra said happily. "Oh, it  _is_  waking up. Activity is increasing by the second."

Ganbri knew that before Kel had even told him. He could feel it—like watching a shadow stir in the dark—the whisper was getting louder. He couldn't make any sense of it though. It was a flurry of abstract colours and sounds that swirled together in a way he simply couldn't understand. His hearts pounded as a feeling of vastness surrounded him, becoming overwhelming in the way that it just kept  _growing_. Just as it began to feel like he was perceiving so much that he wanted to run away, his mind was flooded with what he could only describe as time. He could see time stretched out before him, forever and ever, after the universe ended and beyond. There was no beginning and no end to it. It just  _existed_.

" _Ganbri_!"

J.J.'s voice yanked him out of the connection and he realized that he was on his knees. He was gasping for air, his hearts thumping so hard that they threatened to break through his ribs and escape, and the rain was running along his scalp and sliding onto down his face.

He looked up at the glowing figure before him just as a raindrop slid along its pearly face and dripped off its chin. Where there had once been nothing but blank orbs, there were now a pair of eyes with silver irises shining in the dark.

And they were looking  _back_.


	23. 2031 - The Ghost of Saint Edmund's Hall, Part 2

**2031**

Ganbri froze on the spot, hoping that what he was seeing was somehow in his imagination. Rain pattered softly on the ground and stone around him but, most importantly, it landed on the Ghost and slid along its skin like any physical being.

He watched as its pupils dilated and shrank back down repeatedly, until they finally settled somewhere in between. He listened as it took its first breaths, stuttering and uneven as though it wasn't quite sure how to do it. After a few tries it settled into an even rhythm that Ganbri couldn't help but notice matched perfectly with his own. It watched him eagerly for a moment before slowly closing its eyes for the first time and slowly opening them again, repeating the process until it had mastered the speed of a blink.

"Are you still linked with it?" J.J.'s voice asked softly.

Ganbri was a little frightened to move, so he stayed perfectly still and moved his lips slowly to answer. "No."

The Ghost moved its own lips, twitching slightly as though it were a great struggle. It mimicked the movement for the word, but no sound came out.

"It's copying you," Celeste whispered shakily.

"It's learning from you," Kel corrected.

"Jesus," Doug swore under his breath. "Do we _want_ it to learn?"

"Just . . . nobody move."

Those enormous glowing eyes hadn't broken contact with Ganbri's, but the Ghost continued to move its mouth and lips as though it were attempting to speak. Nothing came out but an odd breathy noise here and there. Suddenly it moved its right arm out to the side, bending its elbow and cupping its hand, as if it were holding something near its shoulder.

Ganbri noticed that some rain was hitting its skin and sliding along, but other drops were still moving straight through it. It wasn't fully through to their world yet, even if it was very close. Then, with nothing to seemingly prompt it, a thin trickle of blood slipped out from the Ghost's nose.

Ganbri touched his fingers to his own face, trying to ignore the way the Ghost immediately mimicked the movement, and was barely surprised to discover that there was blood beneath his own nose. He stared at it, taking note of the pulsing pain in his head, and remembered what his Tokrah had taught him about the side effects of overstepping your own telepathic boundaries. He had linked with a fragment of this thing's consciousness for three seconds and it had dropped him to his knees and literally caused brain damage.

"Jack," he said, trying to keep his voice calm as he hurriedly wiped away the rest of the blood. "We may be in trouble if we piss this thing off."

The Ghost wiped its own nose on the back of its hand, pausing to look at the red smear as if amazed. When Ganbri wiped his hand on the grass, the Ghost leaned forward on its stone seat and copied that too. Then its silver eyes looked up, glancing from person to person in the group. Its head tilted slightly to the side, enormous glowing eyes wide with interest.

Then it smiled serenely.

"Kelevra!" J.J.'s voice hissed behind him. "Don't teach it to do that fucking creepy smile!"

It was too late. The Ghost kept smiling, turning its gaze repeatedly between people. Ganbri watched as its breathing slowed to a normal speed and its hair, which was far too still and clumped to look real, suddenly broke down into individual strands, collapsing like a pile of ash to become a mop of true hair.

"It's averaging us," Kel said quietly. "Finding out what's normal by looking at us all and picking the most common."

"Then why's it smiling?" Doug asked uneasily. "You're the only one smiling."

"It's been watching the people it finds here," Ganbri answered. "Look at its clothes. Its mimicked trousers and a shirt instead of the statue because that's what its seen people wearing. Its probably seen most people smiling too."

"I don't like this," Doug continued, sounding properly frightened now. "We're not trained for this sort of thing, mate. What are we supposed to do?"

The Ghost's glowing eyes turned at the sound of Doug's voice. Its mouth moved and breathy sounds escaped it again, but no words. It stared at him a moment without moving, then suddenly its smile widened to an expression of delight and it raised its hand upright with the palm out.

"Oh, hell," Ganbri sighed just before, as he expected, the Ghost's hand moved forward as if high-fiving the air, then curled its hand into a fist and moved that forward too.

Silence fell over them and the Ghost sat still with that eerily happy expression frozen on its face and its fist hovering in the air.

"Did . . ." Doug stammered, the fear in his voice momentarily giving way to show small signs that almost sounded like amusement. "Did it just try to fist bump me?"

Silver eyes turned to Celeste and the Ghost repeated the motion, still looking pleased as ever. Ganbri tried to get up or move away while the Ghost was distracted, turning its attention to Kel as it repeated it newly learned gesture, then to J.J. as it lifted its chin high in his direction. His legs wouldn't obey him. All he managed to do was wiggle a bit as he felt a fresh spurt of blood dribble down his face. What had that link  _done_ to him?

"What's going on, Ganbri?" J.J. asked, sounding panicked. Ganbri heard his feet move on the grass and abruptly stop, thinking better of it. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't know," Ganbri answered, attempting to move again and trying to ignore the sharp pains that shot through his head and the blood that was now flowing steadily. "I can't move my legs."

He glanced up to find the Ghost staring at him again, its eyes wider than they had been yet. It was not mimicking his movements anymore, or the blood coming from him. It must have learned that those things weren't normal. It glanced at the others in quick succession, suddenly dropping Kel's smile and replacing it with the look of concern it must have been seeing on the others faces.

Ganbri's legs were numb. He couldn't even feel the cold and damp Earth beneath him. He pinched himself in the thigh to make sure and his hearts sank when he didn't feel a damn thing. He was beginning to panic on the inside and the way that those silver eyes looked at him like they were so worried wasn't helping.

The Ghost blinked several times in rapid succession and some its skin lost the light in its glow, then it pointed a finger at Ganbri and began to slowly lean forward. Ganbri leaned back instinctively, trying to get out of its reach, but its arm was so long that there was no use.

The Ghost's finger landed softly on his chest and suddenly it felt like his body was on fire. He let out a short scream, half from the pain and half from the panic. Every nerve in him jumped and jolted as if lightning were coursing through him. Doug started swearing somewhere in the background and it sounded like Celeste was panicking too. It was odd that he couldn't hear or see J.J. This would normally be the moment that he would expect his old friend to go charging in.

Oh well, he thought, J.J. usually knew best.

When the pain stopped, Ganbri opened his eyes to find that he had somehow stumbled backwards. He was sat down on the ground now, with his legs spread out before him, and his trousers were soaked through and cold from the wet grass. Breathing hard, Ganbri shot his hands forward and grabbed hold of his thighs, poking and pinching and unbelievably happy that he could feel it.

He looked back up to find the Ghost smiling at him again, reaching its hand out once more. He tried his best not to flinch away this time, despite the fact that every instinct he had still screamed at him to run. The Ghost kept smiling, blinking slowly as it very gently ran its hand across his face, wiping away the blood. It wasn't until the Ghost was wiping it off on the grass that Ganbri realized his nose had stopped bleeding and his head had stopped hurting.

The Ghost gazed thoughtfully at the blood on the grass, then turned its stare to Ganbri's face again. After a moment, its smile widened and a joyful expression took over its face, leaving laughing lines at the corner of its eyes. Then it leaned forward and gently tugged on his earlobe.

It had just perfectly mimicked one of Banni's facial expressions.

"How sweet," Kel said softly. "It's trying to comfort you."

It was reading their minds, that much was obvious. It saw the fist bump in Doug's head and tried to act friendly. Then it showed submission to J.J. by exposing its throat. And it just mimicked Banni in an attempt to make Ganbri feel better. They were teaching it, whether they wanted to or not.

Ganbri chose not to get up just yet. He stared into the odd being's glowing eyes and tried to get a sense of its personality. He let tendrils of his consciousness stretch towards it without quite connecting, feeling for the radiating heat of malice or the penetrating cold of fear. He couldn't feel anything at all. He hadn't even felt anything when the Ghost had invaded his own mind to subtract memories of his father.

"Do you have a plan yet?" J.J. asked. His voice was calm, without any trace of a tense edge to it. He was relaxed in front of this thing, and Ganbri had always been able to trust Jack's judgement.

"Getting there," Ganbri answered quietly.

He leaned in closer, continuing to stare into those eyes and allowing his consciousness to beckon the infinite mind before him. The Ghost stared straight back as if drinking everything in, tilting its head slightly to the side and then squinting as though it were thinking quite hard. Its mouth began to move again, producing nothing more than breathy sounds.

Ganbri summoned up his knowledge of sign language, pushing the memories of learning it to the front of his mind and presenting it as a pretty little package. This time, he did feel it when the Ghost slipped in to extract information. And it  _hurt_.

It was only a split second, but Ganbri's mind felt like it had been cleaved in half and a fresh wash of blood ran from his nose. The Ghost physically withdrew from him at the sight of the blood, gasping quietly and allowing a look of concern to take over its features—behaving more and more like a person by the second.

"I'm fine," Ganbri spluttered, hurriedly wiping the blood from his face. "It's fine."

He had presented the Ghost with only a handful of words—words he was hoping it could use to tell them exactly how worried they should be.  _Enemy. Help. Surrender. Lost. Hurt. Visit. Peace._  A few more of that variety.

After a moment of waiting for the Ghost to filter through the new information it had taken from him, Ganbri tried to get an answer. "Why are you here?"

The Ghost moved its hands slowly and with uncertainty, the length of its digits and the knobbly joints making the movement look awkward, and it hooked its two index fingers together.

"Friend," Ganbri said aloud for the others. "It's signing 'friend'."

"Does it mean that it  _is_  a friend or that it's looking for a friend?" Kel asked, humming thoughtfully. "Something as powerful as this creature seems to be—I'd be curious to see what sort of friends it has in our world."

"Something just as powerful," J.J. suggested.

"Or worse," Doug added with a nervous chuckle.

Ganbri shushed them and signed back,  _Who?_  When the Ghost didn't seem to understand, he tried again:  _Friend who?_

The Ghost's lips pulled into another mimic of a smile that Ganbri had seen before, many times as he grew up. It lifted its hands, clumsily moving them as though they felt numb, and made a sign that Ganbri had not intended to teach it.

One hand bent and tapped on the upturned wrist of the other twice.

"Shit," Ganbri muttered under his breath. "Jack, call my dad."

 _Who?_  the Ghost continued.  _Friend who?_

"Which one?"

Ganbri blinked in disbelief as the Ghost kept signing the same words over and over again, steadily gaining control over the movements.

_Doctor._

"Call Banni," he answered. "Hell, call them both."

_Doctor. Friend. Friend who?_

"Now."

_Doctor who?_


	24. 2031 - The Ghost of Saint Edmund's Hall, Part 3

** 2031 **

Doug had watched the whole exchange completely convinced that he was in a dream. Not only was the Ghost moving, but Ganbri had found a way to communicate with it, and it  _touched_  him. He didn't know sign language but, whatever the Ghost said, it had sparked what looked like a slightly panicked reaction in the others.

He kept looking to Celeste, suddenly feeling like he was seven years old again and desperately wanting to hide behind his big sister. But this was Torchwood he was dealing with and he couldn't let them see any doubt or weakness. He tried to stand tall, hoping that his size alone would make him look a little more confident and intimidating. But then Ganbri finally stood up, and the Ghost copied him.

When it stood, with its long, dangly limbs and its hunched back straightened, it stood taller than him. A  _lot_  taller. This thing had to be at least seven feet tall, towering over them like some giant, undead scarecrow.

J.J., who was barely over five feet tall himself, swore quietly and took a step back from it.

Celeste stepped back too and Doug instinctively grabbed for her arm. It made him feel a little better to have her closer to him, and he really hoped that it just looked like he was being protective.

The Ghost stood tall for a moment tilting its head this way and that, twitching and stretching its limbs as though it were uncomfortable. Finally, it frowned and shook its head a bit, then relaxed its body. Its spine curled to give it a hunched appearance again, and its knees bent slightly. The Ghost smiled, apparently deciding that it was a more comfortable way to stand.

The dramatic reduction in height seemed to make everyone else a little more comfortable too, except for J.J., who was still eying it up and looking like he was prepared to bolt. It was then that Doug noticed J.J. was circling the yard towards them. He visibly relaxed as he neared them, appearing satisfied that the Ghost meant no harm but, when he reached them, he slapped Doug's arm with the back of his hand.

"Look sharp," he said sternly, as he pulled his phone from his pocket. "You're our new tank."

Doug's eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean?"

J.J. looked up at him with disdain. The angle at which his head had to turn to meet Doug's eyes would have been comical if the little man didn't look so confident in his ability to tear down a comparative giant.

"A tank. A ram. A big guy to bust stuff for us," he explained, reaching a hand out to pinch Doug's thin arms. "You've got the framework, but that's about it. I expect to see you in the gym tomorrow morning. I would like to suggest that you also begin training, Miss Burke."

J.J. moved on to complete his phone call and Doug blinked at his sister. "Why is it optional for you?"

"Maybe he thinks I'm terrifying enough," Celeste answered with a smirk.

Whoever J.J. had called, they instructed him to attempt to get the Ghost back to headquarters or, if they were unable to do that, set up a tent to keep it hidden and stay where they were. It would be a few hours before the supposed experts arrived.

It took time but, with enough encouragement, the Ghost finally seemed to understand what they wanted. To Doug, it felt like calling an untrained dog, with everyone moving their hands in beckoning gestures and pointing at the car, using happy sounding voices to say things like "Come on! Let's go!"

The Ghost turned its head this way and that, watching them all in amusement. Doug couldn't decide if the thing was stupid or just messing with them. It was unsettling and, yet, familiar at the same time. Part of him wanted to get as far away from it as possible and another part of him had an irresistible urge to feed it or take care of it in some way. The body language of the others told him he wasn't the only one.

The Ghost's first steps were terribly shaky and uncoordinated. As thin as it was, muscle didn't seem to be the problem. It was capable of walking, it was like it just it didn't know  _how_  to. When Doug first stepped forward to help, his hands passed right through the body as if it didn't exist, leaving him feeling that frightened little chill running down his spine again.

But he was the new tank, apparently. Surely the tank doesn't admit to chills.

With some noticeable effort on the Ghost's part, its skin on one side dimmed down to a low glow. When Doug touched it again, it was solid. It felt more like gelatin than skin but at least he could feel it now. He felt his heart beating in his throat as he held on to that terribly thin arm and supported a surprisingly small amount of weight as the Ghost found its feet.

He didn't know what it was. He didn't know where it came from. He didn't know what it was capable of or what it wanted. In the time it took the Ghost to take one, tiny, uncertain step, Doug had suddenly come to the realization that if it suddenly killed someone, even if it was only an accident, it was going to be him. Everyone in Torchwood died.

He glanced up to look for Celeste. She was standing near the gate, holding it open for them, and gave him a barely noticeable nod. He swallowed hard and silently told his nerves to piss off.

The vehicle had been crowded on the way to the site as it was. This time around, it was impossible. While the group discussed how they intended to split up, the Ghost quite suddenly half stepped and half fell into the vehicle. Some limbs passed through it as though it were made of mist, while other parts struck it with an audible sound and stopped abruptly.

The Ghost turned back to look at them, its brows knitting together. Doug wasn't sure if it was making that face out of confusion, embarrassment, or pain right up until its mouth moved and silently worded,  _Ow_.

"This thing is fucking unbelievable," Nista sighed, throwing his hands in the air before pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "I don't even—Ganbri, can you load the kids in the car?  _Fuck_."

_ Now _  the Ghost looked embarrassed.

"The shimmer is uncomfortable," Ganbri explained quietly, once Nista was out of earshot. "Makes him grumpy."

By the time Nista was done his cigarette and returned to the vehicle, everyone was inside. The Ghost had jammed itself in the back with the equipment, only fitting because three quarters of its body seemed completely immaterial.

The drive was uncomfortably quiet.

Doug and Celeste weren't allowed to leave headquarters. They were told that something as unusual as the night's events would require all Torchwood staff to stay on site until they were told otherwise. Hours ticked by, but their backup never arrived. Once the time passed one in the morning, the team started packing it in and heading to the bunks set up in headquarters.

The Ghost had been put in a holding cell with bulletproof glass for one wall and concrete for the others. There wasn't much point. Its skin and eyes would glow and it would pass through the walls like a true and genuine ghost and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

When the others laid down to sleep, Nista settled on the floor in the hallway, facing the holding cells with his back against the wall and a weapon at his side. It seemed he had no intentions to sleep that night.

Celeste was on the bunk below him so Doug couldn't see her but her voice told him that she was awake. "Is this really happening?"

"I think so."

"I thought we were just going to get an interview."

"I didn't think we'd even be doing that today."

"Do you think it's as dangerous as Ganbri and Nista make it out to be?"

"I don't know. It doesn't seem particularly safe though."

"And is it just me or are those guys, like . . . kids?"

Doug flipped over onto his stomach and let his head hang down from his bunk, looking at his sister upside down. " _Right_!?"

He opened his mouth to crack a joke about Nista's height when he noticed a pair of eyes watching him. Kel's bunk was right next to theirs, the headboards of his and Celeste's beds pushed right against each other, and he was awake. He laid there, with his elbow propped up and his chin resting in his hand with an almost bored expression.

"It's alright, pets," he said lazily, smiling sleepily and not even flinching at the way Celeste jumped when he spoke. "They'll take care of you." He stretched out and yawned. "They take care of me."

"What do you mean?" Celeste asked uncertainly.

"Nista is sixteen," he answered, earning a jaw drop from both Doug and Celeste. "But that makes him your age for his species and he's very capable of defending himself and others."

"What about the other kid?" Doug asked eagerly.

"Eighteen. Very intelligent. His species is far more advanced than humans—he's probably been doing literal rocket science since he could count his fingers," he yawned again, that odd smile of his stretching further. "They may be kids, but the family is interesting. You could say they were both born and raised for this. Don't worry, though. They'll teach you."

Kel was good on his word. Doug woke in the morning to a bucket of cold water on his face.

"Rise and shine, cupcake!"

Nista hadn't been kidding about the training thing. It was six in the morning and Ganbri, Nista, and Kel were all dressed and ready to go. He slid off his bunk and glanced down at Celeste, whose face, though not soaked with ice water, expressed perfectly what he was thinking.

_ Hell _ . They had walked straight into Hell and signed their names on the dotted line.

The experts they were awaiting hadn't arrived in the night, but no one seemed particularly bothered by that so Doug decided not to worry about it either. By 6:10, Nista had him on a treadmill with Kel on another one beside him. He was suddenly intensely aware of the fact that it was a sixteen-year-old standing in front of him with a gun on his hip and yelling at him to keep up.

Ganbri had Celeste jumping ropes with him on the other side of the room and she seemed to be having a much easier time than he was. As he huffed and puffed beside Doug, Kelevra looked just as pleased as always, smiling away. Doug tried to mimic his calm, even as Nista barked all manners of abuse at him, pointing out just how woefully unprepared he was for a life with Torchwood.

"You're gonna die, do you know that?" Nista asked him once, about thirty minutes in. "You can't run for two minutes without getting short of breath, how are you supposed to make it when you've got monsters and soldiers and who the hell knows what else chasing you down? Is your computer gonna save you then? Is all your wasted potential gonna protect you? Or are you just gonna keep hiding behind your sister?"

"Okay." Doug hit the stop button on the treadmill and hopped off. Even as he stepped forward, Nista's tiny frame strengthened and straightened itself, staring up at him defiantly. "I don't know what your fucking issue is with me or if you've got a bad case of small-man syndrome or what but pack it in! I work with computers and never expected to be running around with guns and aliens so, no, I'm not a tank because I didn't plan to be one. You wanted a tank and you got an over-sized skeleton.  _I get it_. You told me to get on the treadmill; I  _got_  on the fucking treadmill. You want me to lift some weights? I'll lift some fucking weights. This is the job and I'll do it, so shut up and train me. Stop yelling at me to make yourself feel like a big man just because my sister scared the shit out of you."

For the first time since waking, Nista smiled at him.

"Doug," he said after a moment, the look of amusement never leaving his face.

Doug's frown deepened. "What?"

"Get some water and go lift some fucking weights."

Kelevra raised his hand as if he were in school, still keeping speed. "Can I go lift some fucking weights too?"

"Go on then."

Kel quickly shut off his treadmill and beamed widely. "Lovely."

While Nista took a few with him to go keep an eye on the Ghost, Ganbri helped Doug and Celeste with weights, quietly explaining that Nista had only wanted to see him stand up for himself. They were an odd sort, these Torchwood people but, then again, he supposed that all three he was with weren't human so . . . really, it would be odd if they  _weren't_  odd.

Ganbri was drilling him hard enough that he didn't even notice when two other people entered the room. At least not until one of them spoke.

"Blimey, that's heavy!" a voice called out loudly, causing Doug to nearly drop a weight on his head in surprise. "Who the hell was lifting that? Look at it! Harry,  _you_  can't even lift that!"

Doug dropped his weight on the floor and turned to see two men near the door, admiring the weights piled on the bar of the bench press. The shorter, blond one, apparently Harry, was eying it up.

"I could lift that," he answered quietly.

"You can't!" the tall one answered with half a laugh.

Harry raised an eyebrow and answered the comment with a glare. Then he cracked his knuckles and moved to get on the bench.

"Oh, Jesus," Ganbri sighed, putting down his own weights and walking towards the pair. "Can you not? You're gonna give yourself a hernia."

"Now, now, how about you both just calm yourselves, alright?" the blond man said irritably, laying down and shaking his arms a bit in preparation. "Let me just show you how it's done."

The group slowly migrated towards the new pair as Harry took hold of the bar. With a noticeable surge of effort, he did manage to lift it, then froze with it in the air for a moment.

Ganbri sighed again. "Do you need help?"

" _No_ ," Harry snapped back instantly. "Just mind yourself, alright?"

Suddenly Celeste nudged Doug with her elbow. He glanced at her and she gestured with her chin in the direction of the man on the bench. Doug looked back and didn't notice anything.

Ganbri still didn't look impressed. "You know we actually called you for—"

"Shh, shh, in a minute," the tall man interrupted, grinning widely as he watched the other. "Go on then, Harry!"

It took far longer than a bench-press was supposed to take and there was a bit of shakiness going on as he did it, but Harry did manage to lower and lift the bar. He dropped it back in the cradle with a triumphant shout as he bounced off the bench onto his feet.

The tall man kept grinning and clapped him on the back. "Did you slip a disc there, old man? Need me to take a look and make sure you didn't hurt yourself?"

Harry wiped his forehead with his arm, panting for breath. "You do it then!"

"Oh, no, I'm not that stupid. Are you kidding? I'd break."

"Nobody's lifting this," Harry insisted, pointing at the bar. "There's no way any of  _you_  lot are lifting this."

At this point Ganbri raised one hand, smirking. "I lift that," he said, with a perfectly smug look on his face. "Old man."

"Rubbish!" Harry protested. "How many can you do?"

"Twelve."

"We're getting fat and old, Harry."

Celeste elbowed him again. Harder. Doug looked at her with wide, annoyed eyes and she responded with a look of urgency, gesturing towards Harry again. He looked back, squinting to see what she was seeing. Suddenly it came to him.

"Oh, holy shit," he blurted.

"Hmm?" The tall man finally took notice of them, causing his grin to widen all the way to the edges of his face. "Oh, hello there, big fella! You new? Ohh, you're both new! Brother and sister, I take it?"

"This is Celeste and Douglas Burke," Ganbri explained quickly, stepping back to make room so that the tall man could step forward and enthusiastically shake their hands. "This is Doctor John Noble and Professor Harold Mott, Torchwood allies and consultants."

"Oh, don't mind him, he's just being formal," the tall man said happily. "It's just the Doctor."

Doug blinked. "The Doc—"

"And that's Harry," the Doctor concluded, sticking a thumb in Harry's direction.

"Excuse me," Celeste stepped forward, clearing her throat and smiling her most dazzling smile. "Sorry but, um, Professor, are you—?"

"Mine," the Doctor interrupted abruptly.

There was a slightly awkward moment in which Celeste simply blinked at him and the Doctor glanced her up and down with a tiny furrow between his brow. Then suddenly his face broke into a smile again.

"Handsome, isn't he?" the Doctor said with a chuckle, then changed his voice to a loud whisper that everyone could easily hear. "He doesn't have his ring today. It's in the shop getting resized because we're both getting so fat and old."

Harry sighed, not looking amused. "Doctor . . ."

Doug and Celeste both looked to Ganbri for an explanation, both looking like deer in headlights.

"My parents," Ganbri answered, trying his best to smile in a way that didn't look painfully awkward. "Dad One and Dad Two. My last name's Noble-Mott by the way, in case you were wondering."

"Hello!" the Doctor added happily, waving at them as if it were the first time. "My, you are both so  _tall_! It's quite lovely. It's like being among my own people for once."

Celeste found her voice. "But . . . you're  _the_  Doctor?"

"Yes! Have you heard of me?"

And then Doug found his, and it ran away without him. "But you're bloody Harold Saxon! Aren't you . . . aren't you dead? Or at least old? Holy shit, I knew it. I  _knew_  it! You're an alien, aren't you?"

Kel's voice piped up beside him, suddenly sounding supremely happy. "I told you that the family is interesting."

Born and raised, Kel had said. No kidding.

But Harry was glaring at him, eyebrows together. "Obviously, Torchwood hasn't hired you for your people skills or discretion. What  _exactly_  are you useful for?"

"I'm—" Harold Saxon was supposed to have killed people. "I'm, uh—" Holy shit. This guy  _killed_  people. Didn't he? Maybe he didn't. There were lots of theories and not  _all_  of them involved—

"Not hired for your quick thinking either, I see."

"Harry," the Doctor chided. "Stop scaring the new people. It's alright, he doesn't bite."

"Not often."

" _Harry_."

"They're computer techs," Ganbri interrupted. "Security, coding, hacking, that sort of thing. Can we get to the important stuff now?"

"Yes," Harry answered, not taking his eyes off Doug. "I'll come back to this one later."

As the group began to move again, Celeste pinched him hard in the ribs. "The fuck is  _wrong_  with you!?" she whispered angrily in his ear.

"I'm not very good at making friends here, am I?" he replied with a hard gulp.

"Why do you think I was nudging you instead of just blurting that kind of shit out loud? Just keep your stupid mouth shut!"

That sounded like a good idea. Doug nodded his head and resolved not to say anything else, and to avoid making eye contact with Saxon. Him and his stupid mouth. It wouldn't be the first time his uncontrollable voice would get him threatened with death or beat up—hell, it wouldn't even be the first time it had cost him a job.

As they made their way to the holding pens, Ganbri explained the situation. Apparently Nista hadn't managed to get much information out over the phone last night and had only managed to explain that they needed a consult, which was why they had taken until morning to arrive. As the Doctor scolded Harry for not getting proper information and made up a slew of excuses, Doug got the feeling that they had really just skived off and spent the night drinking or something.

Or . . . well, they  _were_  a couple, he supposed . . .

As soon as Ganbri got to the part about the Ghost coming to life, both men stopped dead.

"What do you mean it looked at you?" the Doctor asked, suddenly completely serious.

"What did it do?" Harry demanded. "Where is it?"

"You brought it here, didn't you?" the Doctor asked next, not leaving room for anyone to answer, his voice suddenly rising to one of excitement. "It's here!? Where is it!?"

"Before I take you to it," Ganbri answered sternly. "I need you to hear about what happened when I linked with it."

"You  _linked_  with it!?" Harry shouted.

"Ganbri!" The Doctor slapped him on the upper arm, scowling. Then paused and grabbed his arm again where he'd slapped it. "You know, Harry, I think he really can lift that weight."

Ganbri rolled his eyes and continued explaining. The sensation he described during his telepathic link with the Ghost sounded insane, especially the part about the experience leaving him completely paralyzed until the Ghost healed him. Most of it he couldn't even describe and just kept using words like "forever" and "unfathomable" as he explained what he saw in the tiniest glimpse of the creature.

"You make it sound like it's God or something," Doug blurted. When all eyes turned to him with sombre looks, a terrifying thought occurred to him. "Oh, shit,  _is it_!?"

Another awkward moment. Harry took a slow, deep breath in and out while Celeste pinched him again.

"Well," the Doctor said, sniffing and scratching his chin. "I did meet the Devil once."

Doug was only able to stop himself from blurting out more words because Celeste still hadn't let go of the rib she was pinching. But no one had answered his question.

When they entered the hallway to the holding pens, Nista leapt to his feet and saluted. "Sirs!" he barked.

"J.J., you know you don't need to do that," the Doctor muttered as he passed by the little man, patting him on the shoulder.

As Harry passed by him, he pointed a thumb in Doug's direction and muttered darkly, " _This_  one."

"I know," Nista agreed.

Doug felt his eyes widen and his courage slink down his throat to his belly. Part of him wanted to feebly remind them that they still needed a tank but then he remembered that, despite the difference in size, Ganbri could lift more than he could.

" _Oh_!" the Doctor's breathless voice announced that he had finally come face to face with the Ghost. "Oh,  _hello_. Oh, you are  _beautiful_!"

Harry jogged the last few feet to catch up. When he reached the point that allowed him to see into the Ghost's enclosure, his steps slowed to a stop, his eyes widened, and his mouth slowly fell open. He stepped forward and placed a hand on the glass while the Doctor pulled some device from his pocket and pointed it in, the device lighting up and whirring.

Doug crept forward, forgetting about everything except the two strange men and the Ghost at the end of the hall. He'd read all the stories and theories about Harold Saxon—he was dead, he had a master plan that included faking his own death, he was an alien, he was an innocent victim in a larger scheme. He'd heard plenty about the Doctor too—he was a man of peace, he was a man of war, he was kind and gentle, he was frightening and full of wrath. He had hoped that getting a foot in Torchwood would help him find the answers to these mysterious figures that seemed to have been quietly changing the world, but he hadn't expected them to waltz in like friendly neighbours and be just as amazed by what was in that room as everyone else was.

The Ghost seemed excited to see them, smiling widely and moving its mouth in attempts to speak. After every couple of attempts, it would hold one hand out to its side as if it were holding or presenting something and tilt its head. The two newcomers didn't seem to be able to make any more sense of that than the rest of them.

"See the way it glows in places?" the Doctor was muttering quietly, pointing his whirring device at it again. "It's in a state of flux. I'm only picking up readings on a small percentage of its mass."

"Slipping in and out of the void," Harry replied with a nod. "But how's it doing it? Where's it coming from?"

"I'm more interested in  _why_."

Suddenly, without warning, the Ghost lunged forward. Its eyes widened and brows knitted, baring its teeth and raising its hands with fingers bent in claw-like shapes as an odd hissing noise erupted from its mouth. Both the other men sprang backwards, Harry almost tripping over Doug's foot, and J.J. and Ganbri appeared beside them instantly.

"Bloody hell!" Harry swore, recovering his balance.

But the Doctor was leaning closer to the glass, eyes wide and breathing stopped. "Look," he whispered.

The Ghost was staring right back at him, smiling again, as if amused. And it pointed a long, knobbly finger at him.

"I asked it why it was here," Ganbri explained quietly. "And it signed 'Friend'. Then it signed 'Doctor'. I thought maybe it could have meant any doctor, but it's definitely fixed on you."

The Ghost nodded enthusiastically, continuing to point.

"Me?" the Doctor asked, blinking in surprise. "I don't even know what this is. Why would it even know me?"

Harry's eyes were less surprised and held a darker look. "And why did it travel across the void to come for you?"

Days passed with little progress. Captain Jack returned on the second day, laughing about how his mission went wrong. The way Nista jumped up onto his back like a child when he came through the door answered some questions for Doug but raised others. He chose to keep his mouth shut for once.

Declan returned on the third day with his new-born daughter, Jemma, and hours of work were lost as the crew cooed and fussed over her. The Doctor and Nista were especially bad, unable to focus on anything but the tiny, disruptive little person.

Two weeks passed and, despite the fact that they had hardly learned a thing, the Ghost felt like an old pet. The Doctor had been the first to greet it one morning with a broad smile and say, "And how is our Saint Edmund doing today?". The Ghost responded with a grin of its own and was more enthusiastic than usual with its attempts to communicate after that. Apparently, it liked having a name.

Within two days, the entire crew had stopped calling the Ghost an 'it' and started saying ' _he_ '. Within a week, they had all begun calling him Edmund.

The holding pen didn't actually work to  _hold_  him, however. Edmund had picked up a nasty habit of drifting through the walls to come and find the crew when no one was keeping him company. The first time Doug had ever held a gun in his life, Edmund suddenly popped into existence right in front of him and he fired out of panic.

Jack didn't look impressed when he carefully plucked the weapon from Doug's quaking fingers and muttered, "And now you get to explain to the police why you shot a perfectly innocent person simply for stepping in front of you."

A month in and Doug was beginning to feel at home in the Torchwood headquarters. His muscles were trading in the constant aches and pains for energy and enthusiasm—even if he wasn't able to physically see a difference in himself yet, he could already feel it. He hadn't been sent on the field very much, spending most of his time with Declan and Celeste, refining the computer systems and doing whatever research was asked of them. The Doctor and Harry came in most days to interact with Edmund and sometimes they would come to sit with the working crew to ask questions and socialize.

Despite the rocky start, both Nista and Harry seemed to have softened around the edges a little bit. Doug still had to work to stop himself from blurting stupid things and fight the unbelievable to need to ask Harry a thousand questions about his past life. He decided that, if his mouth made him look like a moron and his work made him look like a genius, he should only let one speak for him.

At two months, after countless gushy visits with the baby and playful affection with their son, Doug was having a hard time understanding why the Doctor and Harry (whom he had learned was also another well-known figure called the Master) were so feared. They were a pair of harmless old dads who spent their days making corny jokes and writing down data like the rest of the geek-squad.

He made the mistake of mentioning that in front of Jack and Nista.

It took a good bit of convincing from everyone else, but the Doctor finally agreed to join them in the ring. Douglas didn't really want to fight anyone, especially because he didn't feel that his training so far was anywhere near adequate for actual combat, but, if they were going to make him have a proper fight against anyone, he supposed it was best that it was the Doctor. The Doctor was closest to his height and weight, though he was a bit slimmer and looked like his bones would be much smaller and easier to break. Doug thought it would be a rather light-hearted and easy session.

He should have known by the smug look on Harry's face that he hadn't been told something. And he  _really_  should have known when Nista blew the whistle and the Doctor didn't move. Doug rushed him, planning to use a move Nista had taught him, tackling the midsection while curling a leg round to knock the knees out. But the Doctor stepped aside, graceful as a matador, swept a leg under Doug's feet as he passed, and chopped the side of his neck with his hand, sending an odd, tingling sensation shooting through his body. In a split second, Doug found himself on the floor, struggling to remember how to stand up.

The Doctor appeared over him, smiling apologetically and offering a hand to help him up. "Don't fight Harry," he whispered.

Doug happily followed his advice. Kel insisted that Doug had to sit down and ice his neck after the blow it had taken and shouldn't participate further, but Doug suspected he only said that to keep him from being embarrassed about backing out.

The rest of the crew took turns sparring. Harry always let his opponent choose whatever weapon they wished and he still always seemed to win. Both he and the Doctor were far faster than Doug would have ever guessed, and they glided through the sparring sessions like they weren't even paying attention.

The excitement in the room escalated when both men picked up blunted swords and decided to duel each other. They danced around the room, leaping and jumping like children at play, but their laughter didn't stop Doug from seeing that they both clearly knew how to use a sword. It seemed to go on forever but, eventually, Harry managed to catch the Doctor in the belly with the tip of his sword.

"One more," Nista called out. "Two on two, weapons of choice."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "Two on two?"

"You and Harry," Nista answered with a nod, cracking his knuckles. "Against me and Ganbri."

Ganbri's eyes widened and his hand shot in the air. "I'm in. Yup, let's do it."

The room suddenly grew tense with excitement at the idea. Jack and Kelevra were whispering together almost frantically—making bets, most likely. The only one who didn't look pleased with the idea was the Doctor himself.

"I know you're getting older, Dad," Ganbri offered in a seemingly kind tone of voice. "We'll be gentle."

The Doctor's eyes flicked up, and Doug could see how they had changed instantly. "Oh, your old man can take a hit, boy," he answered, with an odd smile tugging at his lips. "You ought to worry about yourselves."

Without another word, Harry tossed one of the swords back to the Doctor, and he caught it without even looking. "Just this once," Harry said as he chose out a pair of small, blunt battle axes. "Let's see if you can impress us."

It was at that moment that Ganbri and J.J. looked more like children than they had the entire time Doug had known them. They scampered off with huge grins on their faces to grab their own weapons, clearly over-excited at the idea of being able to show off to the people they looked up to. In the excitement, no one seemed to notice Edmund's glowing body slipping through the wall and into the room.

Both boys armed themselves with simple staves, taking a stance side by side as if they had practiced this a hundred times before. The Doctor stood watching them, holding his sword almost lazily, with Harry positioned a few feet back, knees bent and ready to move.

Jack blew the whistle this time and the boys flew into action. They both rushed at the Doctor, attacking him from both sides. For a second, it looked like they might have been onto something, as the Doctor's sword could only block one side at a time, but the graceful matador returned. He slid to the side, out of Nista's easy reach, blocking Ganbri's staff in a way that their weapons simply slid past each other. Harry rushed forward at the same moment, using one of his axes to hook the end of Nista's staff and lift it upwards, his whole body spinning to bring the other axe to the boy's back, just as the Doctor was completing a similar move on Ganbri.

But the boys were clever. Instead of resisting the weapons clashing against their own, they moved with them. They allowed their staves to follow the push, swinging around their bodies to block their backs from the secondary attack.

Everyone's movement was so fluid—attack, defend, redirect. To Doug it looked almost as if the whole thing had been choreographed, especially when he noticed that both pairs were using a similar tactic. From that moment on, he dubbed it The Showman and the Assassin—the larger of each pair, being the Doctor and Ganbri, would behave a bit more dramatically, getting to the front and always looking as though they were about to doing something big, while their partners, Harry and Nista, would set up the real attack. He was most impressed by the moment when Ganbri feigned a furious offensive, engaging both his fathers at once, just long enough for Nista to get behind him. Without any visual cues that Doug could see, Ganbri suddenly dropped to his knee, just in time for Nista to spring board off of his back and use his body like a living canon ball, slamming into the Doctor's torso.

In a split second, the fight was over. The Doctor lay on the ground with his sword out of reach and Nista's staff to his throat, while Harry had caught Ganbri in the leg with one axe when he attempted to get back up and slapped the second against his spine.

_ The Assassins win _ , Doug thought to himself.

It wasn't until he heard an odd, breathy chortling that he noticed Edmund had crept up and sat down right beside him. He instinctively jerked away but Edmund didn't seem to notice—he just kept smiling the serene smile that he had learned from Kel and crept forward towards the ring.

Edmund rarely stood up and seemed very uncomfortable when he did. The Doctor had looked into it before and reported that, much like his limbs, his spine was too long and couldn't straighten out without the vertebrae putting pressure on each other. As a result, Edmund tended to slouch heavily when he walked or else put his knuckles on the floor and moved around like a gorilla. Doug couldn't decide if he preferred the creepy, animal-like movement or the intimidating and eerily slender height of him.

When Edmund entered the ring, he didn't seem to understand how to participate in a fight. There were no rules discussed or whistle blown—he merely waited until all four of the previous combatants had turned to look at him before he touched a finger to the floor.

The whole room rippled. Doug didn't really understand what had happened, but he watched the floor ripple outwards as though it were only water and a dreadful feeling of nausea and disorientation overcame him. He wasn't the only one.

When he looked up, everyone in the room, not just the ring, was either holding on to something or had fallen over. Nista was crouched low behind Jack, baring his vicious looking fangs, and Harry was gently nudging the Doctor and Ganbri behind him. Doug felt an irrational and overwhelming dread that made him immediately want to seek out Celeste. She appeared at his side on her own, squeezing his arm encouragingly and stepping slightly in front of him.

But Edmund chuckled breathlessly to himself again, apparently finding the whole thing very funny.

"Edmund!" the Doctor barked sharply, in a voice so angry that Doug didn't even know it was him at first.

Edmund stopped laughing. His brows locked together in concern and he tilted his head to the side, listening.

"That was very bad!" the Doctor continued. Harry stepped aside so that the Doctor could move forward, facing the Ghost head-on and raising a stern finger to him. "You frightened everyone and someone could have been hurt. That is  _not_  funny!"

Edmund sank a little closer to the floor, his overly large frame suddenly appearing very small, and his eyes turning downward.

"You go back to your room now and think about what you just did. I will come and talk to you later."

Edmund maintained the low posture, slinking away like a worried cat. Doug was still catching his breath when the Ghost disappeared through the wall and found himself unable to bite his tongue.

"What the  _fuck_  was that!?"

The Doctor didn't even look at him. He just kept staring at the space in the wall where Edmund had disappeared. "A ripple," he said softly, as if to himself. "Not just a ripple in space . . . or even time. That was a ripple in reality itself. How can he do that?"

"You know that sense of dread you felt?" Harry offered next, staring after the Ghost just as the Doctor was. "That was your body sensing death. For a second there, when the ripple hit, we all were pushed through the walls of the void and pulled back before we landed. For a second, we were nowhere. We stopped existing."

Doug blinked rapidly. "We  _died_!?"

"We stopped existing," the Doctor corrected. "We were like him—ghosts—dead and alive in the same sense that he is."

Harry suddenly whipped his head in the Doctor's direction, his face tense and his voice an angry hiss. "What the hell did you do to send something like  _that_  after you?"

"I don't know," the Doctor admitted. "But he's been harmless so far. A bit clumsy—I don't think he knows his own strength against us—but harmless."

"Or that's what it wants us to think," Harry answered quickly. "It came through the void on its own. Its mind is on a level so much higher than ours that we can't even  _glimpse_  it telepathically without risking getting hurt. Now it's affecting reality itself and for what? To make a joke? To make a point?"

"I think he just wanted to play, Dad," Ganbri said quietly. "He saw all of us showing off what we could do."

"That might be true," Harry allowed. "But it might also be that we've been treating it like a stupid pet because it wanted us to. We don't think it's a threat and meanwhile we've been teaching it everything it needs to know. It hasn't fully left the void yet. Maybe it's been using us to figure out how."

"If he is an enemy, there's nothing we can do about it," the Doctor replied with a slight edge to his voice. "We've just seen that he could rip a hole in reality if he wanted to. All we can do is hope that, whatever his intelligence level is, that he's honest. We keep treating him kindly and maybe, by the time he finishes entering our world, he'll consider us friends."

After everyone had managed to shake off the stress of the event, they talked about the situation as a group. It seemed that Harry and the Doctor had a difficult time speaking in terms that everyone else would understand and it was difficult to get any sort of proper flow in the conversation going when so many questions had to be asked. In the end, they agreed with the Doctor.

There was nothing they could do to stop Edmund. Whether Edmund wanted to be or whether he was even aware of it, he was incredibly dangerous. Walls didn't stop him, dimensional gaps didn't stop him, not even reality could stop him. He could do whatever he damn well pleased and the rest of the world would just have to deal with it. All they could hope to do was earn his friendship and have him as a loyal ally by the time he fully left the void.

It was the very next day that they found the letters written on the glass wall of his enclosure: MAI.

Edmund was sat on the floor in the room, pushing around the picture books and various toys they had given him, still not quite understanding what to do with them—in many ways, he was a slow learner. No one had taught him letters yet. They had been having trouble just teaching him more signs and hadn't even thought of moving on to letters. Apparently, he learned them anyway.

"What does it mean?" Doug asked, taking the solemn look on Ganbri's face to mean he understood. "MAI?"

Ganbri chewed on his thumb nail as he stared at the letters. "We're seeing it backwards. If we looked at the glass from his side, we'd see it properly."

Doug frowned at the glass and flipped the image in his head.

I AM.

"Shit," Doug sighed under his breath. "What do you make of that then? 'I am' what?"

"Nothing else," Ganbri shook his head. "That's it. That's the message. 'I am'. Look at him, Doug."

Doug frowned and looked closer at Edmund, trying to make sense of it. It took him a few seconds to realize that not a single part of him was glowing—not a finger, not a hair. He was completely solid.

"Oh,  _shit_ ," he hissed. "We need to—uh, we—we have to—"

"He exists," Ganbri confirmed with a nod, pulling a phone from his pocket. "He's made it through the void. He lives in our world now."


	25. 2032 - Force of Nature

**2032**

After the last week, Jack shouldn't have been even slightly surprised to feel the familiar warmth in his bed. Over the last eleven years, that presence had become more familiar to him than the feeling of waking up alone.

J.J. was seventeen—a man grown most standards—but he'd never grown out of this.

Seven days ago had been Annabelle's first day of weapons training at Torchwood—a safety nightmare when the student is a teenager and her instructor is a childhood friend. Four days ago, J.J. lost a fight to Ganbri in training and lost badly, with a cracked rib to prove it. Two days ago, J.J. had been asked to watch Jemma, and he dropped her when she absentmindedly kicked his injured rib. Last night, Jack had walked in to find Edmund towering over the paralysed Alreesh, staring down at him with a single finger planted on the boy's forehead.

Edmund retreated his hand when Jack pulled a gun and yelled at him and, while the Ghost relaxed down into his usual crouched stance and smiled, J.J. fled the room. Claims of being fine are difficult to believe when the person making them is saying the words between gasps for air and throwing up. J.J. insisted that Edmund didn't hurt him but refused to say what had really happened. Later, he claimed he couldn't  _remember_  what happened.

Jack sighed as he sat up, careful not to move too suddenly, and got a good look. As expected, J.J. was curled up near his feet, facing the door and sleeping soundly. He hadn't grabbed himself a blanket. He never did. He claimed that he always forgot, but Jack knew that he did it on purpose because he would tell himself that he'd go back to his own bed. He never did that either.

Jack carefully laid a couple of pillows against J.J.'s back, leaving something for him to feel so that he wouldn't wake up, and silently crept out of the bed. He learned very quickly after adopting J.J. that owning at least one furry blanket was an absolute must. He'd spent a fortune on them over the years, especially in the beginning. The blankets would get shredded and chewed, sometimes destroyed within a week, but at least it allowed the poor boy to sleep.

He could still remember that first night. Hours awake, listening to him cry, watching his tiny body tremble from head to toe with stress that he didn't know how to release. Even when he would finally doze off, he'd awaken with such a start, kicking and panicking as though he were being dragged off into the darkness.

 _"He's never spent a moment of his life away from his Mother,"_  the Doctor had explained when Jack called him at 4 AM, exhausted and desperate.  _"Just hours ago, he still had a mother, Jack."_

Under the Doctor's advice, he took the closest thing to a fur blanket that he owned at the time and picked up that terrified child, cradling him against his chest. Slowly, he tugged the blanket tighter and tighter, stopping J.J. from thrashing about and hurting himself, cocooning him until he could barely move. As he watched that tiny, unbelievably brave little boy slowly calm down and fall asleep to the sound of Jack's heartbeat in his ear, he knew that he'd never be the same again.

They weren't of the same blood or even the same species but, quite suddenly, they were family.

J.J. was far too big to pick up or cradle anymore, but Jack did the best he could. He gently laid the blanket over him, his frame still so small despite the fact that he wasn't a child anymore. He brushed a long black curl away from his boy's face and looked for signs that he may have harmed himself in whatever panic drove him from his room. There was a small cut on the back of his hand, where he had likely caught it on one of his fangs, but not much else.

It was nice to see him sleep. The muscles in J.J.'s face never relaxed when he was awake. He was always tense, always watching. It broke Jack's heart to know that, after all these years, J.J. was still so afraid. Not many people knew that about him. They called him Nista at headquarters, like a proper military man, and admired his strength and ability. They called him fearless.

That made Jack smile.

"What would they say if they knew that you still crawled into my bed at night?" Jack wondered aloud, tugging the blanket in around J.J.'s shoulders. "My little soldier."

J.J. was not fearless. He never was. Not even as a child charging across a war zone and attacking men four times his own size was he, for even a split second, fearless. Jack had never known another person in his life who was so afraid, but he'd never known anyone who was so brave either.

He was born into a world where his mere existence was a miracle because no one was expected to live long enough to bear a child. Mothers were as good as demi-goddesses for the simple fact that they had survived pregnancy. Alreesh were hunted like animals and eaten for the simple joy of it. It was a dangerous world for a child and every lesson needed to be learned at once if the child wanted to survive.

J.J. was a survivor. That was the part that people forgot. He was not a victim— _never_  a victim—but he was still a survivor. He had watched his siblings and other family die, one by one, and devoured their flesh or else risked starvation. He devoured his own mother when she died too. Jack knew that, if he lifted the blanket to look, there would be a leather bracelet around his wrist with a single, thin strip that was much older and more ragged than the rest woven in.

This child had seen horrors that most people only saw in nightmares and movies, with the luxury of knowing that it wasn't real. This child had fought fiercely for his own life and performed acts of bravery that plenty of full-grown men would have been completely unable to measure up to. J.J. had learned the hard way that fear and action were the only things that kept him alive.

Jack had had conversations with some of the others in which they explained that J.J. spoke about death as if he didn't care. He expected to die, and to do so young and violently. They thought it was strange or sometimes they just laughed about it and said he was crazy. Jack could only shake his head and wonder why they didn't understand.

J.J. didn't  _want_  to die—he was terrified of dying—but battles need to be fought. Bad people still need to be stopped. Lives still need to be saved. The hard-learned lessons of his childhood never became lighter, the scars that he bore never grew shallower, and the fear that sat in his heart never went away. But he stood up anyway. Just as he had when he was only six, he put all of his weaknesses away for another time and turned his fear into a strength that drove him.

 _And he was the best_ , Jack thought proudly.  _The very best_.

The whole crew had seen when J.J. got cornered by three Weevils and took them down on his own. Most had seen him rush to disarm an explosive that Edmund had accidentally triggered, risking himself to save others when his agile legs could have easily carried him to safety. Everyone had heard of the man that rivalled Doug's size who had been aggressively harassing Annie and of the multiple injuries he'd been sent to the hospital with.

But Jack was there when the battles were over and all the heroic deeds were done. He was there when the sun was set and the curtains were drawn and J.J. was forced to let that weakness back in.

He didn't cry or panic like he did when he was a child, but he still shook. Jack would sit with him for hours sometimes, talking to him and pretending that he didn't notice the way the poor boy's body quaked and his voice trembled. Sometimes his eyes would grow wide and his breathing would speed up and Jack would have to remind him that his teeth had grown and that no one could hurt him now.

If only J.J. knew the kind of hellfire that would engulf whatever fool was stupid enough to try to hurt him.

If only Jack had more of his own hellfire.

He sighed.

If only hellfire were enough.

He climbed back into bed, carefully removing the pillows he'd placed and letting his legs return to the same space that they occupied before. J.J. shifted in his sleep, pressing his back firmly against Jack's legs. The only safe way for an Alreesh to sleep is with his family guarding his back.

Jack sat forward and put out a hand, letting it rest on his boy's head. When J.J. was little, he would take this time to pull out all the bits of grass and things that he always got stuck in his hair. Now he ran his fingers through his hair just for the sake of old habits.

"Jack?"

He paused, raising his hand enough to break contact. "I'm here," he answered quietly.

J.J. took a deep breath, saying nothing for a moment. ". . . I should be in my own bed."

"Not if this is where you can actually get some sleep. I don't mind." He smirked and added, "And I won't tell."

"I'm seventeen," J.J. muttered uneasily. "I'll be eighteen soon."

"You're  _seven_ ," Jack answered with a teasing chuckle. "You'll always be seven to me. Even when you're old and wrinkly, you'll still be seven." He let his hand rest on his child's head again, gently picking at his hair and giving it gentle tugs, just like he used to when he was small until he fell asleep.

He watched in the dark as J.J.'s hands shifted under his blanket, bringing his wrists up so that he could hook his bracelet around one of his teeth. Jack realized that he had misunderstood what J.J. was saying.

J.J. had spent almost thrice as many years with Jack than he had with his own people—his own family. If he were still with them, it wasn't likely that he'd still be alive. Aside from the dangers of their world and any of J.J.'s actions in the past, dropping Jemma the other day as he had would have meant a death sentence. The cracked rib he'd received two days earlier would have made him less capable of hunting or defending himself, and likely would have meant an end to his life within the week. The angry way he scolded Annie three days before that would have meant a death so swift that he never would have finished the sentence. They would have killed and eaten him for that if his Mother had allowed it.

And _would_ she have allowed it?

"Go on," Jack offered, encouraging him to say whatever was on his mind.

J.J. shifted again, pulling the bracelet out from his teeth so that he could turn his head. His golden eyes reflected light in the dark when he looked directly at Jack.

"I chose you," he said simply.

"I know," Jack answered. "I chose you too."

Jack knew that he didn't want to ask out loud. He knew how that boy's head worked. He knew he felt guilty and ashamed. He knew he would be wondering if his Mother would still consider him worthy of the food it kept to keep him alive. He knew that he couldn't help but be afraid that somewhere, in the dark, there were teeth waiting to teach him the price of his mistakes.

"You've made me proud, kid. And I'd choose you again, even if you don't sleep in your own bed," Jack added trying to sound light-hearted, pressing his leg firmly against J.J.'s back. "Now close your eyes. Get some sleep."

J.J. had never called him 'dad'. Not once. And he would wrinkle his nose up when someone else called Jack his father. If J.J.'s real father was still alive, he would be running off of the energy from what he had consumed of his son's body while proudly claiming that he was honouring his memory.

He didn't need to be called 'dad'. All he needed to know was that J.J. still trusted him enough to keep him safe at night. They weren't bound by blood and chance—they were bound by something much stronger. They chose.

He put his hand back down on J.J.'s head, twiddling with his hair until his breathing grew deep and even. Jack found his heart pounding full of fury in his chest, glaring into the dark as though he were daring those teeth to  _try_ and take his boy. It pounded like that when he pulled the gun on Edmund, not caring that he was a creature that could walk through walls, cross the void without a ship, or rip holes in the fabric of reality. He might defy every law that the universe had laid out, but harming Jack's child was one that not even the great and mysterious Ghost of Saint Edmund's Hall could break without consequence.

As far as Jack was concerned, the only threat to his child that he didn't yet know how to fight was time itself. There were only decades left—a fleeting moment—and no gun would stop that.

Jack set his jaw and his heart kept pounding, loudly screaming at the universe with a simple two-beat rhythm:  _Me first._

_You'll have to get through me first._

He still had decades left—more than he needed—and he knew an expert when it came to cheating death. He knew  _two_  experts when it came to controlling time.

He could find a way. If he had been born a simple mortal human and become who he was now, then he had proof that it was possible. J.J. didn't want to die, and he was relying on the man he chose to be his guardian to keep him safe—in his sleep, in the dark, before the teeth of would-be killers, and in the face of impossibly powerful beings—J.J. was relying on Jack to save him when he couldn't save himself. And he would do it.

He would do it all because, blood or not, that boy was his son.

And not even Time itself was allowed to harm his son.


	26. 2033 - The Interview

** 2033 **

"This is a stupid plan," George complained miserably. "Protecting ourselves with mops and cleaning chemicals! If we open that door, we're all dead, I tell you."

"Well, it's not going to do us any good sitting in a broom closet until it either breaks its way in or we suffocate on the chemical fumes, is it?" Dr. Laurent answered with an irritable huff, removing her glasses and cleaning them for the twentieth time, as she so often did when she was stressed. "If we make a run for it, at least two of us will make it."

Kevin blinked and turned to look the doctor in the face. " _Marie_."

George looked perfectly ill now.

"Well, I'm sorry!" Marie huffed angrily again. "I'm not trying to be insensitive. I'm just being honest. We might all make it just fine but, really, by holing up in here instead of running when it grabbed poor Carla, we wasted her death. We should have just run while it was distracted."

"I'm twenty years older than you," George muttered shakily at Dr. Laurent. "Thirty years older than—"

"Oh, let's not start having breakdowns now, George," Dr. Laurent interrupted sternly. "We've big enough problems without comparing our lives."

"Marie," Kevin muttered softly, smiling weakly. "I think what George was trying to say is that he might not be able to keep up."

"Oh." Marie obviously hadn't thought of that. "Well, of course not, George. But that's why we'll stay together. Dashing out of here all willy-nilly without a plan is just as bad as staying in here. We stay together, as a group. We protect each other."

"With mops?"

Kevin tried his best to smile in a believable way. "With mops."

"Bloody stupid idea," George repeated, wiping some sweat from his bald brow and shaking his head.

Dr. Laurent ripped her glasses off of her face again. "Okay,  _look—_ "

A loud banging on the door startled everyone into silence. All of a sudden, Kevin's heart was beating so hard that it felt like it was trying to run away without him and the three occupants of the janitor's closet shifted eyes at each other.

"Is it trying to get in again?" George whispered frantically, hoisting his mop towards the door.

"Line the entrance," Dr. Laurent answered. "Quick!"

George and Kevin obeyed, dropping the heads of their mops into the bucket they'd filled with diluted ammonia. They frantically scrubbed at the floor at the base of the door and the edges of wall around it. So far, ammonia had seemed to be the only thing that would keep the monster back.

The door banged again, louder and more desperate sounding. Kevin frowned and glanced at the doctor to see that she was frowning at the door too. That wasn't the mindless thumping of the monster trying to break in as it had before.

"How smart do you think that thing is?" Dr. Laurent asked quietly. "Would it understand a knock? Did it hear any of us knock?"

"It might be Carla!" George piped up suddenly.

Whatever was outside must have heard his voice, because the banging started up again. It was loud and frantic, not stopping this time.

"It is definitely  _not_  Carla!" Dr. Laurent hissed angrily at him. "You saw her as well as we did, George."

"Well, how do you know she wasn't still alive?" the old janitor protested unhappily.

"I'm a coroner, for God's sake! It's my job!"

"Just hold your mops up," Kevin said, holding up his own as he reached for the door. He had meant to open it just a crack and see what was outside but, the moment he turned the handle, the door burst inward.

A giant of a man stumbled in, his bulk knocking Dr. Laurent aside and upturning their bucket of ammonia as he practically fell through the door. Kevin saw immediately that his face was covered in the same thick, pale yellow substance that had covered Carla's face when she was first attacked. Somehow, despite his panic, the big man had enough sense to kick the door shut behind him, just a moment before another loud thump landed on the other side.

"Get it off him!" Dr. Laurent barked loudly, grabbing at the man's arms to try and make him hold still. "George, get his arm! Kevin, get it off!"

They'd brought several tools with them when they fled—anything that might be useful—and luckily there was a scalpel amongst it. The big man was making plenty of noise beneath the hardening goo and was having a hard time sitting still, but Kevin managed to work the scalpel with only nicking him once or twice.

The hardening mask was ripped away and the big man gasped long and loud. He must have been holding his breath for quite a long time. After a few frantic gasps for air, he finally managed to speak.

"Fuck me!" he shrieked, clawing at the last bits of the coating stuck to his face. "The  _fuck_  is that!?"

George made an angry tittering sound. " _Really_. There are ladies present!"

Dr. Laurent quickly hoisted her mop up, holding the ammonia-soaked head towards the man aggressively. "Who are you and how did you get down here?"

"Relax," the man panted, grabbing at the walls to keep his balance. "I'm with Torchwood."

Kevin frowned, and the looks on the others' faces told him that they were just as confused. "Never heard of Torchwood, mate."

"Yeah, I figured," the man answered, still sounding breathless, chest heaving as he leaned against the wall behind him. "That's because I'm  _so_  damn good at my job, mate. It tends to backfire a lot."

"Can you just say something that makes sense!?" Dr. Laurent barked angrily, still brandishing her mop.

"Doug," the man answered, then clumsily shot his hand out. "Doug Burke. Torchwood tech and security. Though apparently, I still have to come on these bullshit missions because I'm big. In case they need to break stuff, Nista says, or I guess to get stuff down from the cupboards because he's about the size of a ten-year-old."

Dr. Laurent blinked at the man, her mouth hanging open slightly, and did not take his hand.

Doug shook his head in exasperation, taking one last big gulp of air before standing up straight again. "Lady, you've got a fucking monster out there. Why do you care who I am? You wanna get the fuck out of here or not?"

"I like that idea," George piped up again. "Even if I don't like the way you said it."

"You think you can get us out?" Dr. Laurent asked suspiciously.

"Yeah, the kids are with me," the man answered casually, pulling a gun from his hip and checking that it was still in working order. Kevin was about to ask what he meant by 'the kids', but then Doug started talking again. "Okay, according to what I was able to dig up, there were four of you working today, yeah? I'm guessing from the hair that the leftovers outside were Carla Samson. Which would make you Dr. Marie Laurent, George Soli, and you—" He stopped abruptly, looking Kevin up and down with a curious frown on his face. "Uh . . ."

"It's Kevin," he offered with his best attempt at a smile. "Kevin Edwards."

The big man simply grinned. "Right. Is anyone else in the building then?"

"Not that we know of," Dr. Laurent answered. "It was just the four of us today. I don't think anyone else came in."

"Nice. Half my job is done then," Doug answered happily. "Now I've got a gun so try not to startle me or something, okay? I'm not James Bond and I haven't got nerves of steel. Scare me and someone gets shot, okay?"

"How easy is it to frighten you!?" George protested loudly, suddenly looking very worried. "Are you even allowed to have that!? I don't think he should have that!"

"Of course I'm allowed to have it!" Doug barked in return. "I'm with Torchwood, remember? We're allowed guns."

"If that's even a real thing. None of us have heard of you."

"And that just tells you what a genius I am." Doug moved to the door and grabbed the handle. "Now stay close. We've got to move quickly."

Before Kevin felt even slightly prepared, they burst out into the hallway. And there was chaos.

Carla's body was still laid out in the hall where they had left her, but more of her was missing now. Something had been eating her. The bursts in her skin and the pearly shells left inside told him that more eggs had been hatched in her skin.

So there was more than one now. Great.

The hall echoed with shouts and gunfire and the shrieks of that terrible monster. Worst of all, they were moving  _towards_  it. It seemed that the monsters were between them and the exit, and the mysterious "Torchwood" didn't sound like they were having an easy time disposing of them.

One appeared at the end of the hall, bursting through the door of one of the many examination rooms, dragging a detached arm in its mouth from whatever body had been laid on a table in there.

The thing was terrible to look at. It was like a massive, pale green snake on a hundred tiny little legs the size of a great dane. Its mouth opened wide enough to swallow the arm whole and the spiky scales that ran along its spine clicked angrily when it looked upon them, its whole body quivering in agitation.

"Nista, you little shit!" Doug yelled loudly, pulling his gun and pointing it at the creature. "Where's my backup that you promised!?"

The monster stepped towards them, hissing and spitting, flecks of thick yellow goo flying from its mouth and hardening on the floor. The first one had hatched from an egg inside one the bodies only three hours ago—since then it had laid more eggs in god knew how many more bodies and they were already grown. It seemed impossible to stop something that reproduced so quickly.

The monster took another step closer and Doug cocked his gun. Kevin didn't know what he was waiting for until another pair of strangers appeared in the hall and flew at the creature.

Of the two new men, one was noticeably smaller, and he leapt clean over the beast's head and onto its back. He carried a black staff with a blade on the end that he reached back with and hooked under the creature's throat, separating the scales nicely. It was then that the second man caught up and drove the blade of his own staff deep into the exposed spot. The monster fell instantly, and the two men kept moving as if it had been nothing.

"Let's go!" Doug roared.

They reached the end of the hall and dashed through the morgue. Thankfully, it looked like all of the storage compartments were still closed, which meant that the bodies should be uninfected. Kevin tried to remember how many bodies had been in examination rooms when this disaster started but his mind was too busy focusing on trying not to die. He supposed any number would still be too many.

"Alright, pet?"

Kevin nearly jumped out of skin at the sudden voice that came out of nowhere. A fourth man had appeared at his side, pale and dark haired, smiling serenely as though they were meeting at a bus stop, despite the fact that he was running just as quick as they were.

"Not bit, are you?"

Kevin never had a chance to answer. Another of the enormous snake-like creatures crashed its way into the morgue through the exit door that they had been aiming for. The group skidded to a halt and quickly tried to put their legs in reverse, but the odd man who had appeared beside Kevin only stared at the monster in mild interest and smiled.

Kevin stopped to turn back, assuming that the man had gone into some sort of shock. He lunged forward to grab the man's arm as one of the monsters lunged at him from the other side. Kevin watched as its jaws came frighteningly close to the man's arm. Before they had a chance to snap shut, one of their earlier saviours leapt into its path.

With one fluid motion, the small, bronze-skinned man had shoved his arm into the beast's mouth and grabbed his friend with the other, tossing him aside and out of harm's way. The monster clamped down on his arm and shook savagely, attempting to tear the limb free.

"Here," the other man said simply, still calmly smiling as he stood off to the side, and tossed a black staff into Kevin’s hands.

Without thinking, Kevin copied what he'd seen earlier and grabbed at the scales around the monster's throat, lifted, and drove the blade of the staff through flesh. The man it was gripping let out an awful sound and Kevin suddenly remembered that his arm was down the same throat he'd just stabbed.

When he yanked the staff back out, the monster dropped dead and the man hurriedly pulled his arm free of the many teeth that had sunk into his flesh. "Ganbri!" he called out loudly, his eyes looking straight through Kevin and staring without focus into the room beyond. "I'm—"

Without warning, the man's legs crumpled beneath and he hit the floor hard.

Kevin frantically looked around for help. The odd man that had tossed him the staff had run off to the far side of the morgue, helping the other young man fight off one of the beasts. Doug was back down the hallway, wielding an ammonia-soaked mop in one hand and a gun in the other as he tried to drive back a monster. George was behind him, shouting and waving at Kevin. Dr. Laurent was on the floor behind them.

Suddenly there was a loud clattering sound coming from the doorway that the last monster had come from. Kevin couldn't run without leaving the bitten man to die and there was no one to help.

"This is a shit rescue!" he barked angrily and bent down to slip his arms around the unconscious man's body. The man was rather smaller than him, but he was well built with muscle and was shockingly heavy for his size. With several great heaves, Kevin was able to drag him into the nearest examination room and kicked the door shut just as another great snake monster appeared outside the window.

He didn't think that their odd little claw legs could open a closed door, but he locked it just in case and prayed that it didn't break through the window in the wall beside the door.

Kevin wasn't used to working on people who were  _alive_. He had no idea how to spare the poor man any pain, only knew the basic levels of first aid, and really only knew how to put corpses back together. Dead people didn't tend to complain much and they couldn't very well die  _again_.

"I'm gonna try really hard not to kill you," Kevin muttered, bunching up his lap coat to shove under the man's head. "But no promises, okay?"

He took off his belt and secured it tight around the man's arm, above the bleeding wounds. He could see a thick yellow fluid seeping from the bites and assumed it was some sort of venom—probably the same venom that killed Carla. He didn't really know how to deal with venom but getting it  _out_  seemed like a good choice.

He was moving in such a panic he kept knocking things over and his fingers felt completely numb. Somehow, he managed to fill a kidney basin with saline and grabbed a handful of gauze and a large syringe, dropping to his knees beside the body on the floor to try to flush the venom out.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he found himself scolding the unconscious man as he hurriedly worked. "Giant monster with great flipping venom-filled teeth—I'll stick my arm its mouth! Bleeding idiot."

It was then that Kevin spotted the enormous wound in the man's hand. It went in through his palm and out the back, too long and thin to have been one of the monster's teeth. He felt a heavy weight of guilt slide into his belly and decided to stop scolding.

As he carefully rinsed out the wounds, he noticed that the yellow venom appeared to be hardening, forming the same substance that they had pulled free from Doug's face. It was reacting differently inside of a body—maybe from the heat or maybe from the nutrients in the blood—hardening into small sphere. Eggs, he realized.

Something heavy thumped against the door. Kevin started swearing under his breath and quickly moved to get behind the unconscious man and grabbed hold of him to drag him behind the examination table. It wouldn't offer much cover if one of those monsters were to look in the window, but it was better than nothing.

He'd barely let go when the other man's eyes snapped open and he firmly grabbed hold of Kevin's collar, yanking him down to eye level. "You weren't on the list of staff," the man hissed viciously. "Who are you?"

"I'm on the list! I'm on the list!" Kevin insisted quickly, his heart suddenly leaping up into his throat as he tried to pull away and found the other man to be far stronger than he expected.

"The only male staff member on record is George Soli," the man hissed again, barely straining to hold Kevin in place. "He's decades older than you and has a _significantly_ darker complexion. Who the fuck are you?"

"I changed my name a few years ago," Kevin answered, panicking. Something about this man didn't seem right now that he was seeing him so close. His eyes flickered oddly and something about his skin just didn't look right, almost like there was something else underneath. "My name is Kevin Edwards but, when I started working here, my legal name was Karen. Your information is old, that's all! Listen, I saved your life a minute ago! You can trust me!"

The man stared at him for a brief moment longer before abruptly letting go. "You got your I.D. on you?"

Kevin nodded quickly and struggled to pull his I.D. card from his pocket. Suddenly his hands were shaking and his tongue felt numb, but he managed to fumble the little card with his picture on it into the other man's hands.

"S-see? Edwards," he stammered, pointing at the name on the card. "That's me."

Very suddenly, the muscles in the man's face and arms relaxed, his body language dramatically changing. "I apologize," he said in a far calmer voice, all traces of hostility in it suddenly gone. "I'm Jack. I'm with Torchwood."

Jack held his hand out, seemingly forgetting that there was a brand new hole in it dripping blood all over the place. Something about the other man's sudden and remarkable calm stopped Kevin from worrying about it too much and he shook the bloodied hand without hesitation.

It was only a moment later, as Kevin was helping Jack to his feet, that someone knocked on the door. Every moment after that felt so surreal that Kevin wasn't entirely sure if he was awake or not. Part of his head was telling him that he must be going into shock, but that reasonable voice seemed too far away to pay much attention to it.

The rest of the team that called themselves Torchwood had gathered outside and the odd man he had met earlier, who was introduced as Kelevra, looked over the scene before him with an interested eye. A small smile kept twitching in the corner of his mouth as he took in the sight of Jack's injuries and the hardened venom on the floor.

"That was a close call for you, Nista," Kelevra said in a soft voice, smiling gently. "I'll look over your arm more closely when we get back—make sure you aren't carrying any passengers. It seems that your new friend here saved your life."

Dr. Laurent hadn't made it. Marie was an intelligent and very fierce woman and it was difficult to think that she had fallen prey to anything. Kevin stared down the hallway at the crumpled sheet that he knew was concealing her body and felt his stomach squirming around, threatening to empty its contents onto the floor but never following through. He had cared a lot about Marie. He'd always wondered what she would have said if he ever asked her out for a drink. She'd probably say he was too young for her, really.

Too late to find out now, he supposed.

George was visibly shaking. Someone handed Kevin some sort of oxygen mask and he put it over George's face without thinking, holding it in place and trying to tear his eyes away from that crumpled pile on the floor. Someone said something about burning the building and then they were led into the sunlight.

It was a beautiful day outside. Someone had put police tape all around the building and there were a couple of vehicles blocking the entrances to the car park but, other than that, there was nothing to let anyone know that anything was amiss.

They took George away. The big man, Doug, herded him into a vehicle and they disappeared. The young one that he'd heard called Ganbri earlier went back inside with some strange looking metal tins and returned a few minutes later, looking very solemn.

Kelevra took Kevin by the arm and led him into the back of a vehicle, then handed him a small package before closing the door. He looked down and saw it was a suture kit before realizing that Jack was in the back seat with him.

He tore open the kit and began tending to Jack's wounded hand as tendrils of smoke began to curl out of the building's windows. He was only just starting to smell it. He'd worked in that place since his placement as a student and all the years following his graduation. It was so odd to think that this would be the last time he saw it. It was odd to think that he'd never see Carla or Marie again. He didn't even know what their families would be told had happened. He doubted it would be even close to the truth.

Ganbri slid into the driver's seat as the first lights of flame became visible in the windows. He said something about the authorities being on their way. They left before anyone showed up.

They took him to some house out in one of the quieter residential areas. Jack's hand was sewn up, but Kevin hadn't dared do anything more to the arm until they were sure there was nothing inside the flesh.

George wasn't at the house. Neither was the vehicle that George was taken away in.

Kevin sort of expected the house to be empty inside, or at least rather desolate looking, but it wasn't. Someone lived there. Someone had lived there for a long time, it seemed. There were some ancient and muddy hiking boots on the floor and several pairs of sunglasses and a wallet on a little table next to the door. Shoddy, dusty homemade crafts on shelves and multiple picture frames on the walls and scattered about suggested that a child had grown up here, but the home lacked a woman's touch.

He managed to catch a glimpse of one of the photos as he passed—a rather handsome man in his forties with a darker-skinned boy half hiding behind his legs. It was Jack.

His eyes darted about the house as he was led through it, spotting several more pictures of Jack at various stages of life and the man Kevin assumed was his father. He even spotted a few with the members of the mysterious Torchwood and other people he assumed were friends and family.

It didn't make any sense that they had brought him to a team member's home. He expected a military compound or some other kind of secretive base. He might have even expected an empty and abandoned facility where they might coerce him into silence or maybe even worse. After all, what had they done with George?

He was about to ask what the hell they were doing when one of them slid a remarkably thin piece of metal between the doorframe and the wall surrounding what looked like a broom closet. Something began to make a low humming sound and the door opened.

This, apparently, was the secret base. In someone's broom closet.

The area looked like a gigantic concrete aircraft shelter and stretched further than he could really see. He saw one or two people flit past too quickly to really look at them. There were screens everywhere flashing information and making some rather alarming sounds. Someone was shouting angrily somewhere off to the side. He decided that he wasn't meant to pay attention to any of it.

Before he knew it, he was taken to a medical room off of the central area, still within earshot of the chaos but quiet enough to ignore it. Kelevra pushed him onto a stool in front of a patient's bed and then pushed Jack onto the bed in front of him.

"Scanner," Kelevra muttered, shoving an odd-looking device into Kevin's hands before turning and digging through a set of drawers.

Kevin still had that odd numb feeling and couldn't think to do anything else but turn the device in his hands until he found a button that activated a little screen.

As he inspected Jack's arm, Kelevra created a small pile of supplies on the small table next to him. He noticed that the bone in arm didn't look quite right—thinner than he would expect and with a slight curve that was rather unusual. He would have commented had he not spotted a small, black mass on the scanner. Removing it proved it to be a tiny piece of hardened venom and nothing else appeared on the scanner.

As he went to turn the scanner off, it swept past Jack's face and revealed why it hadn't looked right. Somehow, impossibly, the scanner showed a pair of enormous teeth reaching halfway down the man's chin alongside an unusually shaped jaw and skull. He stared at it for a brief moment and blinked.

Jack wasn't human.

He put the scanner down and picked through his pile of supplies to clean the wounds. "I guess your real name isn't Jack."

Jack tilted his head slightly, his eyes eerily still and penetrating. Then he calmly touched a button on his watch and his entire body flickered as though it were only a hologram. Then the real face underneath was looking back at him.

"Only as much as your real name isn't Kevin," he answered calmly. "My name is Jack now and has been for a long time."

That was fair, so Kevin nodded in agreement. He carried on with his work and tried not to notice the bone-crushing fangs or the golden gleam in the eyes staring at him. How the hell had he gone from a normal day at work to leaving a smoldering building, monster bodies, and two dead colleagues behind to stitch up some sort of nonhuman person in a secret base for an organization he'd never heard of?

He felt a little dizzy.

"I'm keeping him."

He looked up to see Kelevra's finger pointed directly at his face. There was a man standing behind him with his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face. Kevin recognized him from the photos in the house.

"No," the man answered in an American accent. "You can't just drag a victim off the street and—"

" _You said_  I could have an assistant, Captain," Kelevra insisted. "You said I could pick anyone I wanted—"

The other man suddenly got louder, eyes wide and exasperated. "Yeah, I meant to look for people esteemed in the field and to have an interview process—"

"Yes, but that's not what you  _said_ ," Kelevra interrupted rather sternly. "You  _said_  I could have anyone and I want this one."

He was pointing again and actually stomped his foot on the floor. Kevin suddenly knew how hamsters in pet shops felt.

"He saw Nista and Ganbri kill one of those creatures and about a minute later I watched him repeat the method without even thinking," Kelevra argued, holding his fingers out as he carried on with his list. "He figured out on his own what he had to do to protect J.J. from the venom and kept him safe. He was  _clearly_  overwhelmed and confused in the situation  _and_  experienced personal loss but still behaved appropriately. Then he went into an obvious state of shock and, off of sheer instinct, started caring for the people around him. He probably couldn't tell you his own address when we left that building but I handed him a suture kit and he started stitching up your boy immediately. He's good under pressure. He learns fast. He didn't go hysterical when J.J. took his shimmer off. I like him. I want  _this_  one!"

The other man raised his eyebrows, apparently surprised.

"He's good, sir," Jack spoke up quietly. "I'm with Kel on this one."

Now the eyebrows were so high that they were threatening to fly away and the American addressed Kevin directly. "It's not very often I have these two agree with each other."

"Oh, I'm very agreeable," Kelevra answered, his voice and face suddenly slipping back into the same eerily serene state as they were before.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Kevin."

"You need a job?"

"I . . ." he stammered a bit, still feeling like he wasn't entirely in reality, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "My boss got eaten by snake monsters and you set the building on fire."

"Right," the American answered, glancing at the other two men in the room as if this was news to him. "Well, I'll take that as a 'yes' then. You start in the morning."


	27. 2034 - To Each Their Beast

** 2034 **

"Isn't it beautiful?"

He meant it. Harry could see it on his husband's face, in the shine of his eyes, that he meant it. All he could see was the Beast's muscles stretching out, its grey skin rippling to life with colour under the light of a simulated sun. He didn't seem to even notice the blood dripping from its jaws.

"I thought we had agreed that it was best to keep it asleep?" Harry asked quietly in return.

"Well, it's not like it can cause any harm in here," the Doctor answered casually, not turning his gleeful eyes away from the monster. "It can't get out. It's safe."

It wasn't safe. Even locked away in a room with a thousand locks, that Beast was never safe. Its mind wandered freely across the universe in the body of a Time Lord, and its will grew stronger every day.

Its sterile white room had been replaced with a false environment—rolling hills of lime green grass and clustered forests of thin white trees. There was a lake of clear water and flocks of bizarre six-winged birds that hopped underfoot constantly but, when they took to the sky, their sapphire wings glittered with reflected sunlight, creating a light show that rivalled the very stars. Insects buzzed, fish swam and leapt from the lake's water, all manner of animals dashed about a small, synthetic world.

It was quite beautiful really. But then Harry would remember why it had been created, and suddenly it looked like poison.

"Why not just let it sleep, Doctor?"

He was petting it. His hands stroked its side like it was a beloved pet with a blissful smile on his face. He was so happy right now. How could that thing possibly make him so happy?

"Its wasting its life away in there, sleeping all the time. Nothing deserves that sort of life. Just let it live in here, Harry."

He had reached over to scratch its chin without looking. There was blood on his hand now. He didn't notice, or maybe he didn't care.

"You link with it more often when its awake."

The Doctor revealed his most charming smile. "Then I'll just have to link with you instead."

He reached out to him, trying to take his hand, blood still coating his fingers. Harry pulled away instinctively.

"Every time you're near this thing, you get blood on you," he muttered, the words coming out a little rougher than he had intended.

The Doctor's smile dropped for a moment, a dark look taking over his eyes. Then, just as suddenly as it had disappeared, his smile returned.

"Oh, yes. Look at that," he said, holding his hand up and turning it, letting the blood gleam in the light. "You know, I don't think I've seen that much blood on that hand since that day my fingers were cut off."

"Odd that you would think of that instead of the day that our son was born."

"And how lucky we are to have him," the Doctor answered without hesitation. "Think what would have happened if I hadn't had the Beast with me? We might have lost him then and there. Some time in the next few years, Ganbri is going back to that place. Your daughter is going to try to kill him. My Beast will save him." He turned towards Harry and flashed that grin of his again. "Isn't that wonderful?"

Harry felt a sudden anger rise up in him. "What happened to Ghanje?"

Every inch of the Doctor's body froze, his eyes suddenly a bit wider. "What?" he whispered.

"Remember who you're talking to. And think twice before you use my daughter's memory as a passive aggressive weapon against me," Harry answered, his voice rising and his muscles tensing. "I'm not stupid. I know what Ghanje was. You told me you found the Beast on the Ennyeshan homeworld and Ghanje disappeared once you let this thing out. We never saw him again. What happened?"

The Doctor's face had drained of colour. "I-I don't know," he stammered out quickly.

"Did you let the Beast kill him too?"

"No!"

"Then where is he!?" Harry roared.

"I don't know!" the Doctor shouted back. "He just-he just left! How am I supposed to know what he did? Stop it, Harry!"

"Lie to me all you want," Harry hissed, stepping forward just so he could watch the way the Beast shrank back from him. "He was your friend, Doctor.  _Remember_  that."

Apparently, it hit harder than Harry had meant it to. A tear had spilled from the Doctor's eye and he looked furious with himself for it. He refused to wipe it away, his lips clamped together as if he were trying to will away every sign of emotion.

"He was my friend," the Doctor said quietly, his eyes hard and his hands clenching into fists. "I remember. I remember all of them. It's all I can do for them now. I don't want to have to remember any more. I don't want to have to remember you too. I don't want to have to remember Ganbri or Jenny. I won't."

He knew those eyes. Those were the eyes that defied every Time Lord, every army, every law that ever said 'No'. Those were the eyes that destroyed worlds, killed men, and sent a monster to savage and kill his little girl.

"You will," Harry answered and turned his eyes to look at the Beast instead.

It was standing tall and rigid, mimicking the Doctor's body language. Its black skin rippled with a pearly sheen, its mane extended and glowing with a fierce gold, and every muscle in its body prepared to attack. The Doctor was angry, and so all the Beast understood at that moment was that it was angry too. Did the Doctor even see the way it looked at Harry, its jaws ready to snap him in half?

"One way or another, Doctor," Harry continued, not moving his eyes away from the enormous animal in front of him. "If you keep this thing in your life, you'll have to remember us all."

He turned his back on the Beast and began walking to the exit.

"Harry."

Let him be alone with his Beast for a while in that lovely little paradise. Let him see how much that creature's company was really worth to him.

The Doctor called after him again, using his true name this time. Harry still didn't look back. He remembered the fear in Kahlia's eyes, the ragged shreds of flesh that the Beast had left of her foot, the sound of her panicked screaming, and he steeled his resolve. There was no room for that monster in the life they dreamed of.

He would not bend. Not with this.

Grandfather was a comfort as always. Wilfred quietly listened with sympathetic eyes and a soul clean of stain and judgement. How this man existed and how Harry had become lucky enough to be a part of his life was a mystery that could only be explained with the word 'miracle'.

Wilfred had been the first to see the Beast. He stood beside the Doctor the first time he unleashed it and begged him not to. He had seen the other side of the Doctor that very few unfortunate souls ever got to see. If anyone could understand what was happening, it was Grandfather.

"You know he thinks he's doing what's best," Wilfred offered quietly. "He's only scared and he wants to keep you safe. It doesn't make him right, but it does mean that he needs patience."

Jack had been oddly quiet until then. He had sat off to the side, occasionally taking sips of his beer and listening with clear interest. Finally, he set his glass down and spoke up.

"What if he  _is_  right?"

Wilfred's eyes widened in surprise, blinking rapidly. Harry simply turned his gaze toward the other man, trying his best not to look as irritated as he felt.

"Who's he hurt that didn't deserve it?" Jack asked, looking back at them as calmly as if he were talking about a change in the transit system.

"Jack," Wilfred started quietly. "You know what happened with—"

"Yeah, I know," Jack interrupted. "He sent it after Kahlia. I'm sorry, Harry. I know that makes you feel like shit, but was it wrong? I know she was your daughter but Kahlia killed a lot of innocent people. She tortured the Doctor, intended to kill him—hell, she intended to kill all of us. After what she did to your boys, you know what she would have done to Ganbri."

Grandfather gasped. " _Jack_ —"

"No," Harry interrupted, reaching out to touch Grandfather's hand. "It's okay."

Jack only hesitated for a moment before continuing. "You wound up having to put Kahlia down yourself. My point is, as much as it sucked, you knew that there was only one way it was going to end with her. The Doctor was just prepared to face that before you were. So maybe he could have handled it better, but does that make him wrong?"

Harry looked Jack in the eye, levelling him anew, trying to see how the man had changed without him noticing. And why.

"Would you do what he did?" Harry asked carefully.

"If it were my boy at risk?" Jack didn't blink, didn't twitch, didn't shift. "Yes."

Harry narrowed his eyes, not sure if he believed it. Jack was a lot of things and he had always been willing to nudge the line a bit more than the others, but did he really know what he was saying? Jack leaned forward in his seat and eagerly offered his explanation.

"I've lost kids, Harry," Jack said quietly, with an odd urgency in his voice. "Some of them were my fault. I know how that feels. I'm not going to fail as a father again. Whatever I have to do to keep that kid safe, I'm doing it. If someone were trying to kill J.J. and I had access to something like that Beast, there wouldn't be a force in all the universe that could stop me."

Harry narrowed his eyes further. "Really?"

"Why do you think I haven't tried to get rid of Edmund?"

The answer came easily and without thought. Harry felt his hearts skip a beat as he looked at his friend in a new light and suddenly saw that there was a growing shadow behind him too.

"That thing, whatever Edmund is, is powerful beyond reason. If I can befriend him, make him an ally, and get him to do what I want, I wouldn't hesitate for a second in asking him to rip holes in reality or time or whatever to keep J.J. alive. I'd do anything. Trust me on that." Jack leaned back in his chair again, raising his beer to his lips for another sip and bringing his feet up to rest on the coffee table. "To each their Beast."

Harry remembered a warm night in the woods just a few short years ago. The air smelled of blood and water splashed quietly as J.J. washed himself in the river. Harry had dragged a boy into a murder plot for all the same reasons that the Doctor had for keeping that monster. Would the Doctor accept his explanation if he knew? Would Jack?

It wasn't until that moment that Harry realized he had secured a Beast for himself. Only he had done it with his best friend's son—a boy whom he was supposed to protect from the evils of the world, and instead he had corrupted him. How did he really know how that night would affect J.J. in the long run? He hadn't thought much about it at the time. He hadn't cared. He just wanted his family to be safe.

He looked at Jack with a new level of understanding.

Were these the kind of men that love made them? Quietly building armies and secretly gathering weapons, stuck in an arms race with the universe, prepared to go to war if it ever threatened their children? Did that make them bad men? Or good fathers?

"I'm an old man," Wilfred's gentle voice broke his train of thought. "I'm older than I ought to be and we all know it. Every time I try to talk to you about stopping my treatments, you won't even have the conversation. You're afraid to let me go, Harry. I understand that. Are you ever going to be ready to let me die?"

Harry blinked at him, suddenly feeling a little sick to the stomach. "We're not talking about that right now," he muttered quietly.

"We are. In a way." Wilfred said softly. "The Doctor feels the same fear. You asking him to give up the Beast is even harder for him than it is for you when I ask about stopping my treatments. Be understanding of that. Be patient. One day, I will die, and you know that even if you're not ready for it just yet. So I stay. As long as you need me, my boy, I'll stay."

"We will always need you, Grandfather," Harry couldn't help but make himself smile. "You will live forever."

"Maybe," Grandfather smiled kindly. "And maybe, if the Doctor feels that you understand his fear, it might be easier for him to overcome it. Maybe, you can overcome it together."

Jack said little else until the conversation steered back towards something a little more relaxed. He updated them on the situation with Edmund—apparently the bizarre being had begun writing messages that said "I am here" when he was awake and "I am not here" when he entered his very death-like hibernation that they had so far just assumed was him sleeping. J.J. had been talking about the possibility of moving out and, as Ganbri wasn't going to be leaving home any time soon, it seemed that Kevin was the most likely option for a flatmate. The team had grown a lot together, and Jack trusted the boys enough to take a step back and let them do most of the decision making. Ganbri was becoming quite the leader, it seemed.

It was getting late when Harry made for home. He'd missed a call from Ganbri, but he'd left a message explaining that the crew were getting together for a games night. Another message from Jenny told him that she'd been invited as well. She followed it up with a photo of a laughing Douglas holding a clearly struggling J.J. under one arm and Annabelle under the other with the caption "I may need back up".

He opened his front door feeling very aware that they would be alone tonight. Just him and the Doctor, and the Beast hiding out in the TARDIS. Suddenly, he felt exhausted.

Before he'd even taken his shoes off, the Doctor was standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at him. Harry could see the bags under his eyes and the tension in his face—he was exhausted too.

"Your dinner got cold," the Doctor said quietly. "I put it in the fridge. I can heat it up, if you want."

Harry tried his best to smile but all he could think of was that watching blood dripping from J.J.'s fangs didn't look very different from watching it drip from the Beast's.

"Thank you," he said. "But I think I'll just go to bed. I'll have it tomorrow."

"Oh. Okay."

The Doctor was avoiding eye contact, glancing everywhere but at Harry. He fidgeted and moved about on his feet, clearly feeling nervous, but he didn't say anything. Harry glanced back at him as he walked up the steps and sighed.

"Are you coming to bed soon?" he asked.

The relief showed on the Doctor's face immediately. "Yes," he answered quickly. "Uh, let me just get cleaned up in here. I'll be up in a bit."

Harry nodded and carried on his way. He tried to ignore the waves of nauseating emotions that moved throughout the house as he got ready for bed. He knew that there was no mess to clean up in the kitchen and that the Doctor was trying to work out his own tangle of stress and feelings before he presented himself to Harry. That old fool was always trying to pretend that he had it all together.

Harry was half asleep in his bed by the time the Doctor crept in beside him. They laid there silently for a long time and Harry knew that his husband was trying to figure out what to say. A hand came to rest on Harry's arm and he chose to simply not react to it.

"Harry," the Doctor finally whispered, his voice heavy with uncertainty. ". . . Are you going to leave?"

"I should," Harry answered, perhaps a little more coldly than he had intended. "I should take the kids far away from that thing—somewhere they'd be safe."

"I would never let it hurt them," the Doctor answered quickly, his shaky words practically tripping over each other to get out. "I swear to you—"

"Don't," Harry interrupted him. "I don't want to hear any of that."

He heard the Doctor take a small, sharp intake of breath and felt the fingers on his arm withdraw so as not to give the fact that they had started to tremble. Harry didn't want to make him cry. He turned onto his back so that they could face each other, hoping that would be enough to calm the Doctor down for the moment.

"Tell me it's because of Kahlia," he said firmly, looking right into his husband's watery eyes. "Tell me that you're so determined to keep that thing because the fight with Kahlia isn't over until Ganbri comes back from her ship. That it's just because time can still be rewritten."

The Doctor blinked at him, apparently surprised.

"That thing  _has_  to go. Do you understand me?" Harry continued, choosing not to wait for an answer. "And I can understand if you're not ready to let it go yet, but I need to know that it's not going to be forever."

Harry only noticed that the Doctor had been holding his breath because he suddenly started breathing again, gulping for air as he nodded his head quickly. "Okay," he said in a thick voice.

"Once Ganbri comes home and we know that whole nightmare is over and done, you find a way to get rid of that monster and you do it. We will not even discuss having another baby until it's gone. I will  _not_  let our children live under the threat of that thing's hunger and, if you don't let go of it when the time comes, I will take them both, I will leave, and I will not come back. Do you understand?"

The Doctor swallowed hard and nodded again. "Okay," he barely managed to say.

"You swear to me, right now."

"I swear," the Doctor answered before Harry had even finished. "I promise you, Harry."

He opened his arms and allowed the Doctor to nuzzle up against his chest, just like he used to when he would talk to Ganbri as a denndi. He didn't talk anymore, but Harry held him until he got his emotions under control and kept holding him until he finally drifted off to sleep.

Somewhere out there, the Beast was sleeping in its false little world. Somewhere, J.J. was watching his friends goofing off, his staff resting against a corner nearby, just in case. Somewhere, Edmund's eyes would be growing dim and lifeless, his mind drifting off somewhere else as he left his body behind.

Out there, in the universe, there were countless monsters waiting to be found, waiting to be taken and tamed and turned into weapons. Everywhere they went, there would always be another lifeform that could be manipulated and bent to the will of a bunch of damaged old men, frightened for their children.

It wasn't the Beast's fault, he knew. It was never really the weapon that was the threat, but the one who wielded it. They were dangerous and untrustworthy men, all of them. Perhaps himself most of all.

But did that make them bad men?

Or did it make them good fathers?


	28. 2035 - Clay and Ashes

** 2035 **

"You'll take care of him, right?" Jack asked, for the hundredth time.

"Yes, sir."

"He's not as tough as he looks, you know."

"I know."

"Don't tell him I said that."

"Of course not, sir."

Jack clapped him on the back hard a couple of times. "You're a good guy, Kevin," he said as cheerfully as he could manage. He turned as if he was going to head back into the house, then paused and looked back. "Do me a favour. See if you can get him to stop smoking."

Kevin nodded his head and promised he'd try. Jack went into the house, appearing occasionally in a window to check up on them as they worked. It seemed he was trying to give J.J. his space, or perhaps he wanted some of his own.

The big, black Torchwood surveillance van had temporarily had its equipment cleared out to make room for boxes and the few pieces of furniture that J.J. was taking with him. Doug and Ganbri had come to assist with the move, hoping to get it done quickly, but the regular stops to argue and occasional fighting matches that would suddenly break out meant that it ended up taking longer than it probably would have if it had just been the two of them. It was getting close to sunset when the back doors of the van finally swung shut.

The three men waited outside while J.J. returned to the house one last time. Doug said that he doubted Nista would do anything more than shake Jack's hand and thank him in a way that was way too formal for the occasion, but Ganbri and Kevin agreed that it was best to give them privacy in case their parting was more intimate than expected.

Ten minutes later, J.J. emerged, walked straight past the other three, and hopped into the van without a word. He was already lighting a cigarette when Kevin slid into the passenger's seat beside him.

"You know Jack wants you to quit," he muttered quietly as he did up his seat belt.

"Not right now," J.J. answered, a mild sound of warning in his voice.

Kevin cleared his throat and glanced out the window as J.J. took a long, slow drag. He gave Doug and Ganbri a wave as they climbed into Ganbri's car. He waited until their car started moving before he opened his mouth, about to remind Nista that he could back out if he wanted to, but he never got the words out.

"The last place I lived before this house was a cage," Nista said quietly. "Livestock. They took my family one by one—dragged them out kicking and screaming—and I'd just listen and be thankful that it wasn't me. Then I'd wait until they gave us the scraps to eat."

Kevin looked at him with wide eyes, not sure where the sudden serious talk had come from. It had taken Nista over a year to give him that information, spread out in tiny bits and pieces. Now he was just blurting it out like it was nothing new.

"Before that, I'd never known what it was like to be inside a building," Nista let his cigarette hang between his lips and stared out his window. "I was nothing more than a fucking animal before I went into that house."

Kevin cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. He didn't know why Nista was saying any of it, and he definitely didn't know what his friend wanted in return.

"That's not true," he offered weakly.

"I thought the ability to read was magic," Nista continued as if Kevin hadn't spoke, letting half a chuckle slip out between drags. " _Magic_. Fuck. You know my first night here I freaked the fuck out every time Jack tried to close the front door? He had to show me how the locks worked and how to use a key, then he made me lock him inside the house, just so that he could show me he could still get out. I locked him inside five times before I let him close the door with me in the house. Jack went through all that just to  _close the door_. Crazy, right?"

With that, the pieces clicked into place and Kevin realized why Nista had suddenly become so talkative. Jack had been patient and kind with him for years, helping him whenever the nightmares of his old life came back. Jack was the only person in the world who understood how perfectly normal, every-day things could be terrifying, and he was the only person in the world who knew how to make Nista feel safe.

"I'll tell you what," Kevin said. "I'll show you how the locks work if you let me skip leg day at work."

Nista's eyes turned towards him with an unamused look, but he gave himself away when the corner of his mouth twitched upward for just a second. He tried to cover it up with his hand by grabbing his cigarette and flicking it out the window. " _Never_  skip a leg day."

"What if I throw in a tutorial on the window locks to sweeten the deal?"

"Fuck off."

Nista started the van's ignition, gave a quick, casual salute to the house, and started driving.

Ganbri and Doug had already made themselves comfortable when they arrived—apparently, they had expected Nista's last goodbye to his home to take longer than it did. They were sitting cross-legged on the ground, both holding their hands out with Doug's hovering over top of Ganbri's. Suddenly Ganbri's hands would whip up and slap the tops of Doug's hands before he was able to pull them away.

"Fuck!" Doug barked at the top of his lungs but put his hands back in position anyway. Ganbri slapped him again within seconds.

Unloading everything and moving it in seemed to take a lot less time than packing it all had. Doug grabbed whatever he found in front of him, usually whatever looked biggest, and carried it to the door until someone told him where to put it. He grinned practically the entire time, chatting happily to no one in particular about how cool it would be to have another Torchwood member as a housemate.

Ganbri and Nista worked seamlessly, handing boxes to each other and gliding around each other's movements without speaking or looking at each other, as if they were two halves of the same person. If one of them struggled with something, the other seemed to know before anyone had a chance to say anything and would step in to help. There was an oddly high level of organization going on without any discussion to make it happen. It was moments like that that made Kevin realize how new he was in their lives, even though it sometimes felt as if he'd always been there.

It was dark by the time everything was unloaded, and the rest of the team started to arrive. Kevin had invited everyone over for some drinks in their new home, naïvely hoping that they would have achieved more by the time anyone else arrived. He should have known better.

Annie was the first, arriving looking even more gorgeous than usual with a shopping bag hanging from her arm. She smiled beautifully at him as she slung an arm around his shoulder and held the bag up for his inspection. It was full of paper plates, cups, and a few other basic essentials for a typical order-in, moving-day type of meal.

"I know the boys well enough to know that there was no chance in hell you'd have your kitchen unpacked tonight," she said, grinning widely, clearly pleased with herself.

"You're an angel," he answered gratefully.

"Not until Halloween!"

Annie bounced away from him and towards the others to say hi. She gave Doug a hug too, getting up on her tiptoes to reach around his neck, and kissed Ganbri and Nista on their cheeks as she usually did. One of the perks of being childhood friends, he supposed.

Kelevra arrived fifteen minutes later, holding a rather large potted fern in each arm. "They're calming," was all he offered in explanation as he pushed one into Kevin's arms, smiling wide with pride. "That one is Greg."

"Greg?"

"Mm-hmm," Kel nodded, glancing over his shoulder into the rest of the house. "Greg is yours. Lyle is for Nista."

Kevin couldn't stop the odd scrunching movement that his face made. " _Lyle_?"

Kel just blinked at him, apparently unsure what the confusion was about. "Yes," he answered simply. "They're  _calming_ , Kevin."

"Oh, yeah, I get that. It's the Greg and Lyle part that's throwing me off."

"Oh?" Kel frowned slightly, glancing back and forth between the two ferns with a look of concern. "Well, I suppose you could rename Greg if you really wanted to, but I wouldn't recommend it. It could get confusing."

Without another second of hesitation, Kel walked past him in search of Nista, cradling "Lyle" against his body. Kevin found himself blinking and staring at his own fern for far too long before simply shaking his head and taking Greg to his bedroom to find a new home. When he came back out, he spotted Nista holding his own fern awkwardly, turning the pot this way and that in his hands as if he were looking for the booby-trap.

"They're calming," Kel explained happily.

Declan and Celeste arrived together. She looked a little more somber than usual, but she made a good attempt at a smile. She didn't smile for real until her brother saw her and hollered loudly for her to join him in his and Ganbri's slapping game.

Declan hoisted a case of beer into Kevin's arms, holding a second one under his arm. "Listen . . . I'm gonna drink Kelevra  _under the table_  tonight," he whispered in a completely serious tone. "I'm gonna see if I can get him to tell me what happened to that bat that got stuck in headquarters. I  _checked_  and none of the perimeter alarms went off. It didn't get out. Do me a favour, yeah? You fetch any drinks for him and you make them a little stronger, yeah?"

Kevin grinned. "You know he's technically my boss, right?"

"Yeah, well, I technically write your paychecks so choose your allegiance wisely." He clapped Kevin on the shoulder before walking on. "There's a good lad."

As the night wore on, productivity decreased and volume increased. Ganbri and Annie had tried to be helpful at first, unpacking boxes and trying to organize, but it didn't last long. The slapping game turned into a drinking game before long. Doug's slurring speech early in the night was proof enough that he was terrible at it. Celeste proved to be more of an even match for Ganbri, but he still gave her one hell of a challenge.

By the time two o'clock rolled around, Declan was losing his own game. Kel smiled blissfully away, his sleepy eyes blinking slowly into a haze of nothing, but Declan was barely awake and never managed to ask about the fate of the mysterious bat. Doug had fallen asleep, his massive frame stretching over the entire surface of the only couch. Celeste had thrown a blanket over him and sat down on the floor beside the couch, playing on her phone silently for the most part. Annie was halfway through painting Ganbri's toenails blue and was trying to convince J.J. to allow her to do his. She was good at it and, for just a second, J.J. looked like he might even agree, but the windows lit up with the headlights of a car and the boys quickly snapped to attention.

"Shit, what time is it? It's my dads," Ganbri said quickly. "Everybody get up."

"I can't go in a car," Kel's voice announced, his eyes not tearing away from the piece of wall he was staring at. "I think I'm unwell."

"Are you gonna throw up?"

"It's hard to say." Kel squinted at the wall before him, then finally turned his head to look at Ganbri directly. "I don't thi-ohh, that looks lovely, Annie. You'll have to do mine next time."

Annie smiled widely. "Do you want blue too?"

"I think red is more my colour." Without much warning, Kel stood up from his chair, lurching off to the side as if he had been on a swaying boat, and grabbed the wall to steady himself. "Ganbri, pet, be a dear and fetch your father? I think Declan will need some help walking to the car."

Kevin stepped forward to take hold of Kel's arm, leading him carefully out to the driveway, while Nista roused Declan.

"Ohh, Doug's asleep, isn't he?" Kel asked, leaning heavily against Kevin. "How will you get that great beast out of there? I could help you carry him."

"That's okay, sir."

"I'm quite strong, you know!"

"Blimey, what have you  _done_ to him?" the Doctor's voice called as he climbed out of his car. He hurried forward to help take Kel's weight, eyes wide with surprise.

"Declan wanted to know what happened to the bat," Kel answered serenely, quite willingly allowing himself to slump into the Doctor's arms. "Stupid man."

Another car pulled into the driveway and Harry emerged from it. He took one glance at Kel's progressively limp body being deposited into the car and grimaced.

"Has anyone been sick?"

"I think Doug got a little sick earlier. He's fine now."

Harry frowned deeply. "Where's Ganbri?"

He didn't wait for an answer, hurrying into the house before Kevin had a chance to speak. Kevin wasn't worried though. Despite how much he drank, Ganbri appeared to be more sober than almost everyone else. He emerged a minute later with his father, supporting Declan between them.

One by one, their guests were herded into vehicles. They were going to leave Doug to sleep it off on the couch but Kelevra started howling in the back of the Doctor's car that no man gets left behind. With a few good pokes and two grown men and his sister supporting him, they managed to get the giant into one of the cars.

It wasn't until the goodbyes had been said and the cars were departing that Kevin noticed Nista standing in the doorway. He hadn't set foot outside, and one hand was holding the door frame as if he were afraid of being swept away by a flood.

"Alright, Jack?" Kevin asked.

"Fine."

He hadn't had much to drink, Kevin knew. He wasn't drunk.

"You're just holding the house up?"

Jack's eyes shot down to his own hand and he quickly released the frame. "Just tired."

"Well, we've got nowhere else to go," Kevin answered with a smile. "May as well head to bed then."

Kevin could still hear him an hour after he'd gone to bed. Jack was prowling around the house, checking and rechecking all the doors and windows. He heard closet and cupboard doors opening, the occasional scrape of furniture, and the unmistakable sound of Nista's staff occasionally tapping the ground as he walked.

He knew this would happen. Jack warned him that this would happen. He had explained that, despite appearances, his son could be a nervous wreck, especially at night. Tonight, J.J. was in an unfamiliar house, away from everything he knew, away from Jack, and knowing that both he and Kevin had been drinking. The two of them hadn't had very much and, as far as Kevin was concerned, could still function perfectly normally, but any alcohol meant lowered defences.

He tried to ignore it. He tried to sleep. But it was upsetting to think of his friend wandering around a strange and lonely house at night because he was too afraid to go to sleep.

"Don't do it," he muttered to himself, tossing over for the fiftieth time. "He'll settle eventually. Just let him be."

Jack had told him a few things that J.J. would never want him to know. He knew that sometimes the only way he could sleep was with another person there. Sometimes, the only way he felt  _safe_  was to have another person there.

" _Fuck_ ," Kevin groaned as he pushed himself up from his mattress. He bundled up his pillow and blanket under one arm, grabbed Greg with the other, and opened his bedroom door.

There was a clear view from his bedroom door to the living room. Jack was standing, frozen in the dark, staff in his hands. His golden eyes were so wide that they gleamed through the shadows, easily visible despite the distance.

"I'm sleeping in your room," Kevin announced, perhaps sounding a little grumpier than he intended. " _Just_  tonight."

Jack didn't move a muscle, nor did he speak. Kevin took that as an agreement and pushed open the other bedroom door. He set Greg on one of the boxes that had been left on the floor and climbed onto the bed, lying on top of the covers with his own blanket so that Jack could get beneath them, creating a little bit of a barrier between them.

He wasn't sure what took Jack so long to return to his room—probably checking the locks one last time, he supposed—but he did eventually return. Without a word, he slipped beneath the sheets, settled his head down on his own pillow, and turned on his side so that he could face the door. His trusty staff leaned against the wall right beside the bed.

Kevin waited for him to relax. He didn't. J.J. was trying to settle down, but every muscle in him was still rigid and his breathing was still the short, shallow breath of a person who is far too aware of their surroundings.

Kevin sighed. "I can call Jack," he offered. "I'm sure he'd come pick you up."

" _No_ ," J.J. answered sharply. "Just go to sleep. I'm fine."

Great. Now he was embarrassed.

"Why don't you move your fern a little closer?" Kevin asked next. "I don't know if Kel told you but, apparently, they're calming."

"It concerns me how many times he said that," Jack answered. "It makes me think he's somehow rigged it to spray sedatives into the air or something."

"I brought Greg with me. For the extra calming effect."

"Mine's name is Lyle."

"Did he tell you why?"

"I have no fucking idea. And why can't I name my own fern?"

Kevin grinned. "What would you name it?"

"I don't know," Jack scoffed, the stress in his voice dissolving into amusement. "Probably Lyle."

Talking helped. He could work with that. Jack had told him that when J.J. was a kid, they'd sometimes tell each other stories when he couldn't sleep. After a year of gleaning tiny bits of information—an odd reference here and a muttered curse there—Kevin had finally started asking J.J. about his homeworld. He didn't like talking about his childhood much, but he always seemed eager to tell the stories. The religion he had been raised with was full of stories and, apparently, no one else ever really asked about them.

The Alreesh believed that the sky was actually the inside walls of the womb of Ku'atsi, the Eternal Mother of All. Aside from a select few, her children stayed within her always, safe for eternity. During their last talk, Jack had explained that the Alreesh planet was actually the goddess Nu'akt. The Alreesh called her the Peacekeeper.

"Why is Nu'akt the Peacekeeper?" Kevin asked as casually as he could. "You never told me."

Jack scoffed. "You don't want to know that right now."

"I do," Kevin insisted. "I wanted to know when you first mentioned it. It's a weird thing. Usually a people's planet is considered the life giver, you know, like Mother Earth—"

"Ku'atsi is the Mother."

"Exactly," Kevin grinned. "So why is Nu'akt the Peacekeeper?"

Jack suddenly rolled onto his back, looking back over his shoulder to eye Kevin suspiciously. "Seriously?"

Kevin nodded eagerly. "Seriously."

With one final, suspicious squint, Jack shifted properly onto his back and sighed. "Nu'akt stands between Ru'ahn and Hu'ate, to stop them fighting."

Kevin nodded as if he understood, thinking quickly. "And . . . I'm guessing they are the sun and the moon?"

"The largest moon, anyway," Jack confirmed. "There are five others, but they're really small so I guess they orbit faster. You can see them during the day and the night, so we don't believe they took a stance in the fight."

"Okay. So what are they fighting about?"

"Ku'atasanni came—"

"Who's this now?"

Jack blinked at him as though it were obvious. "I've told you about her."

"I think I'd remember a name like that."

"She's Ku'atsi's eldest daughter," Jack explained, pausing as though that explained everything. After a moment of Kevin staring blankly in return, he continued. "She's Death."

"Thank you," Kevin grinned. "Go on."

"Ku'atasanni came looking for a disciple."

"And, understandably, no one wanted to go."

"Right. Hu'ate ordered Ru'ahn to go with her, but he refused—"

"Whoa, hold on," Kevin interrupted quickly. "This one's a  _boy_?"

"There are boys," Jack answered bluntly. "Not many, but there are some."

"Okay, so he's in big trouble then."

"Yeah." Suddenly Jack looked genuinely sad and he said the next part quietly. "Hu'ate clawed his face, marking him forever for his disobedience—the moon has a big, black, jagged mark across its surface. To hurt him more, she sent Ju'atse—another male—whom Ru'ahn loved most of all his brothers and sisters, to be Ku'atasanni's disciple. Ju'atse's service made it so that anyone who touched him died terribly, so he could never go home. Ju'atse translates to 'plague' in my language."

"Unfortunate."

"Ru'ahn and Hu'ate—that's our sun—are very rarely seen together. Ru'ahn usually only rises at night."

"But not always."

"Right. Sometimes it rises during the day. My mother taught me that Ru'ahn gets so angry when he sees his sister, that he calls for war. When he does, the moon turns red."

Kevin blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it turns red," Jack's face suddenly broke into a wide grin. "And not like the blood moons they have here on Earth. I mean,  _red_. My people think that the red is blood on Ru'ahn's hands and face from the fighting. Sometimes it's just in patches but, sometimes, it's the whole thing."

"Wait, does this happen in the stories or in real life?"

"It really happens. It's amazing." His grin widened and his eyes gazed at the ceiling as if he could see it. "It's supposed to be a bad omen but it's actually really beautiful. I talked to Harry about it once and he thinks that it probably has some kind of flora on the surface that blooms red in the sunlight. One day, I want to go to Ru'ahn and see for myself."

"Wouldn't Harry or the Doctor be able to find out for you?"

Jack shook his head. "I don't want to read about it or be told. I want to see it and find out on my own."

Jack continued to flow with information after that. He told Kevin about the smaller moons and their associated goddesses. Their names all sounded the same to Kevin, but he tried his best to keep up and remember what he could. He noticed that Jack's accent was usually so faint that it was barely noticeable but, the more he talked about his homeworld, the more his accent came out. His R's rolled slightly, his S's and T's became more pronounced, and he tended to shift abruptly between vowels, like he would when pronouncing names and words from home.

He even talked about his mother a little bit.

Jack fell asleep during a telling of the love story between Tu'atania and Lenpi-Kri'its Rode. Kevin could tell from the "u'a" in one and the multiple names in the other that they were a goddess and a mortal. He also knew that, despite how much the legends of Earth enjoyed ascending humans to godly levels in those types of stories and making them constellations or something, the Alreesh didn't have such sentiment. You are what you are and it was that simple. The laws of the universe didn't change for the sake of anyone's feelings, goddess or not. He had no doubt in his mind that Lenpi, Tu'atania, or both died.

He considered trying to carefully climb out of the bed and slip away to his own room, but he knew it wouldn't work. Jack would wake up before he even got halfway to the foot of the bed and they'd be at square one. He would have to stay, he realized, but he supposed that was okay. The bed was big enough for two and they had the blankets between them—as long as he didn't startle Jack in the morning and get his face bitten off, he should be fine.

So Kevin settled down, shifting and getting comfortable. He pulled his own blanket up for warmth and silently asked the ever-vigilant Greg and Lyle to use their mysterious calming powers to let his friend sleep in peace.

It wasn't until he was just drifting off himself that he realized Jack had fallen asleep with his back to the door.


	29. 2036 - A Day in the Life of Harold Mott

**2036**

Harry opened his eyes to the sound of singing birds and stifling heat. He was alone, as usual. It was rare for the sun to rise before his husband, even in the early dawns of late spring.

He heard feet padding past his bedroom door out in the hallway, too quickly to be the Doctor. Ganbri's bedroom door must have been what woke him. Not that it mattered.

"Dad!" Ganbri's voice called out, followed by a couple of good thumps on the door. "Time to get up!"

Harry only gave a loud groan in response but it was enough to satisfy his son, and the feet in the hall continued on their way. What happened to the days when the parents were supposed to wake the children?

Still, despite his body's protests, Harry forced himself out of bed.

He came down the stairs still looking a bit scruffy and tired and not caring about it. At least, he didn't care until he spotted the Doctor on the living room sofa in a suit and tie, perfectly shaved and hair styled. He immediately felt irritated that early mornings came so much easier to the Doctor than they did to him, despite the fact that the Doctor rarely needed to get up early.

"It was your decision," the Doctor muttered before Harry had said a word, not glancing up from the papers before him as he sipped a cup of tea. "I told you you'd hate it. You didn't listen to me."

"Stop it, Banni!" Ganbri chided from the kitchen. He emerged a moment later with freshly filled water bottles and handed one to Harry. "You hate it now but you'll love it once you start seeing results. Then you can see how jealous he gets over how you've changed."

"It's not like he's going to sprout wings or anything," the Doctor muttered into his mug. "He's looked exactly the same for twenty-five years."

Harry scowled. "I'm so inspired by your confidence in me."

The Doctor finally looked up from his papers, quickly put on his most charming smiling, and winked. "I only mean that you can't improve upon perfection, lahrre."

Despite himself, Harry smiled.

Right up until Ganbri pushed his gym bag into his hands and stated abruptly, "You can and you will."

Ah, his loving son. What happened to his sweet little boy that thought his father was the toughest, strongest man alive?

As he watched his son march off, Harry thought of how Ganbri looked when he was little. A tiny six-year-old with an unruly mess of black hair, missing teeth, and hands so small that Harry could fit both of them in one of his own. Ganbri was taller than him now, his beautiful hair so short that it was barely there, and his body had become built up with more muscle than Harry had ever had.

"What time is your first class today?" the Doctor asked, rising from the sofa, still holding his thick stack of papers.

"Nine."

"Would you have time to come 'round and see Edmund with me before you go?" the Doctor asked, holding up his papers for Harry to glance at briefly. "We've been getting some interesting data and I have some ideas."

Harry swept his eyes over the papers, taking in the endless scribbles and notes in all the margins and frowned. "When in the world do you have time for all that? Are you bringing in Ood when I'm not around?"

The Doctor's brows knitted together. "What?"

"Leaving!" Ganbri's voice shouted from the garage.

"I'm just kidding. Don't be so serious," Harry chuckled, leaning forward and pecking a quick kiss on his husband's lips. "Meet you around eight?"

The Doctor nodded, but the frown was still on his face. He scolded himself internally—he knew that the Doctor could be a tad sensitive when it came to the Ood. His run-ins with them had never really ended well. Oh well, it couldn't be helped now.

Ganbri was as impatient as he was every morning, waiting by the door, hopping from foot to foot as if he were preparing to dash out from a starting line. The moment Harry stepped into the garage, Ganbri grinned widely and lifted his security card.

To any stranger that ever entered their garage, the damaged and scratched up old wardrobe in the corner looked like nothing but a long-forgotten piece of furniture. If they tried to open it, its doors would stay stubbornly shut and they would likely assume that it was forgotten in the garage because it jammed. But, when Ganbri slipped his security card in the gap between the doors, it clicked loudly and the doors swung open with ease.

After the past tragedies of Torchwood, Jack and Declan had come up with some elegant solutions to past security issues. The location of the last Torchwood headquarters had become one of the agencies worst kept secrets and, ultimately, it was bombed. Jack was determined to keep the new one secret. No one except Jack and Declan knew where it really was—not even Harry. All anyone really knew was that it was deep underground and whatever tunnels or elevator shafts existed that led to the surface had been bricked up and painted over to forever hide them among the other walls. The only way in and out of headquarters were through the teleport systems that Jack had set up.

Inside the wardrobe was a small panel on a stand. Ganbri swiped his card again, the panel prompted him to select one of his authorized destinations, and suddenly the back wall of the wardrobe pushed open to reveal the submerged city that hid planet Earth's front line of defense.

The area before him was a massive concrete atrium, with powerful lights built into the ceiling, mimicking sunlight so well that they clearly hadn't been created on Earth. It stretched on in a straight line for what looked like miles and there were several bicycles and even a skateboard lined up neatly along the wall to his right. In the center of the massive tunnel, different work stations had been built every fifty feet or so—most with the same sun-mimicking lights above them and a few without. Most of the stations he could see had computers, but one had aquariums with plenty of complicated equipment hooked up to them, one had plants with clipboards attached to their stands, one was just a computer desk surrounded by cylindrical tubes large enough to put people inside, bubbling and swirling with all sorts of bizarre looking fluids and gases.

He found it odd that they had built so many work stations in the main area when there were countless doors that lined the endless stretch of tunnel. What was behind them? He knew that the first door on the left of a medical treatment room—right by the entrance, in case of emergency—and that there was a morgue, an armory, the gym, at least one garage. It all seemed fairly standard until he remembered that a creature such as Edmund was kept behind one of those doors. That door looked like any of the others. And there were so many of them.

As they made their way down the tunnel, Kelevra wandered out from one of the many rooms, staring hard at the tablet in his hands as he walked. "Oh," he said with a start, looking up at them and stopping dead in his tracks. "Is it so late?"

"It's early," Ganbri corrected.

"Time is relative, pet," Kel answered with a smile. "I'll be along soon."

The training room was a far enough walk that Harry couldn't see the teleport anymore when he looked back. He heard Doug's booming voice echoing somewhere behind them, so he assumed that meant that the Burkes had arrived. Declan bustled past them at one point with his arms full of files—he only joined them for training about half the time and spend the other half drowning in paperwork. Today looked like a paperwork day.

J.J. was in the training room before anyone else, as expected. What wasn't expected was to see Kevin there too, only three weeks after finally getting surgery on his chest.

"You’re not back already, are you?" Ganbri asked first, frowning at Kevin.

Before anyone had a chance to answer, J.J. cut in. "I told him not to. His doctor told him not to.  _Kel_  told him not to," the Alreesh boy blurted out quickly, sounding stressed. Harry could see his fingers moving on their own, going to where his cigarettes would be if he hadn't promised not to smoke until Kevin recovered. "He's gonna get hurt. Could you talk some sense into him, sir?"

Harry blinked. He didn't really know Kevin well enough to lecture him on his health.

"Would you talk some sense into  _him_?" Kevin answered, moving to cross his arms, wincing, and suddenly thinking better of it. "You weren't this worried when Doug broke his wrist. Or when Ganbri got—"

Ganbri coughed and cleared his throat loudly.

Kevin smiled awkwardly and turned his attention back to J.J. "It's not like it was heart surgery. I had some fat removed—that's all. It's like liposuction really. You wouldn't tell me not to exercise at  _all_ if I'd had liposuction, would you?"

"Kev!"

Harry flinched at the sheer volume of Doug's voice.

The giant of a man hurried towards them and suddenly froze. "Hug?" he asked, scrunching his face up uncertainly and holding his arms out somewhat awkwardly. "One-armed hug? One-armed hug."

" _Gently_ ," J.J. growled at him.

Douglas beamed and put one arm gently around Kevin's shoulders, giving him a little squeeze. Celeste took her time putting down her gym bag, allowing her brother to ask his customary fifty questions he asked whenever he hadn't seen someone for a while or they had been ill. Once Doug had burned off some of his excitement, she wandered up, smiling kindly, and squeezed Kevin's arm.

"It's good to have you back."

Annie squealed when she arrived a few minutes later, reacting similarly to Doug and giving him an awkward one-armed hug and kissing him on the cheek. Harry noticed that both Ganbri and J.J. looked away from the reunion and wandered off to get set up. He also noticed the almost unbroken eye contact between Kevin and Annie as they spoke, how closely they were standing to each other, and the way neither of them seemed to be able to stop smiling.

A massive hand thumped him in the shoulder, nearly knocking him sideways, and he looked up to see Doug beside him. "See that?" Doug asked in the quietest voice that Harry had ever heard him use and gesturing towards the pair on the other side of the room. "Be nice if someone looked at me like that." Harry thought that he meant love until he blurted next. "I mean, I'm really in shape now. I'm hot, right?"

Harry rolled his eyes. It was true, he had to admit, but he didn't have to admit it out loud. In the five years that the Burkes had been under J.J.'s strict training regime, Douglas had piled muscle onto his massive frame to the point that Harry was certain that he could use his bare hands to tear the limbs from a man if he wanted to. Celeste was getting quite bulky too, though not nearly as much as her brother. She had gone from a tall wisp to a solid tower of strength, her muscles nicely shaped and clearly visible. He didn't think she could rip arms off, but he had no doubt that she could break them without much effort.

"Ew, don't you start doing it too," Doug complained, swatting Harry's shoulder again to stop him from looking at Celeste. "She already looks at you like you're a fucking Calvin Klein ad. You start looking at her like that and I'm telling the Doctor."

"Now, now," Harry answered, grinning. "I'm sure there must be someone in the universe who finds you attractive."

"Not with this face," Doug answered, grinning as well. "I'm so fucking pretty, it's too intimidating. I think I'm just gonna have to accept that I'm gonna die alone."

"You won't die alone. Your sister will be with you, I'm sure."

Doug chuckled. "Ouch."

Nista barked out orders, reminding them all of which workout they were each meant to be doing that day and sharply telling Kevin that he was only to go at a walking pace on the treadmill and to stop the moment he felt pain. Kelevra arrived ten minutes late and was punished with the task of fifty push-ups. He chose to do them right next to Kevin's treadmill, and Harry could see the mad doctor gossiping away the entire time. Declan showed up after half an hour, but J.J. was so pleased that he actually joined them that he didn't get a punishment.

Once in a while, Nista's sharp eyes would catch someone slacking off or doing something incorrectly and he'd bark at them without stopping what he was doing. "You should be  _sweating_ , Temple! Back straight, Davies!"

At one point, he heard the call, "Elbows in, Mott!". Nista had never yelled at him before and it startled him so much that he shot a glance over at the Alreesh, who suddenly flushed and quickly added. "Sir!"

"If he's 'sir', then who the fuck am I?" Doug shouted from his station. "Duchess of York!?"

Without hesitation, Nista dropped the weights he was holding and started walking quickly towards Doug's station.

"Fuck," the big man gasped, dropping the bar of weights off of his shoulders with a loud crash and started running.

Nista stopped and watched him run towards the exit with a satisfied look. "To the teleport and back five times!" he shouted.

Doug returned later, dripping with sweat and shouting loudly, "I did five! I swear, I did five! Check the fucking cameras!"

Harry went straight to Edmund's holding cell after his workout, mopping sweat from his forehead with a towel, trying to catch his breath, and wishing that he didn't feel quite so old. Ganbri  _jogged_  to the showers, as if he hadn't just spent an hour having his body ripped apart by Nista's harsh routines.

The Doctor was standing outside of Edmund's cell, frantically writing on his thick stack of papers as Harry approached. "Morning, lah— _oh_!" The Doctor frowned at him horribly. "You couldn't have showered first?"

"Nice to see you too, dearest husband," Harry answered darkly. "I have to get ready for work. Show me what you have."

One of the many toys they had given Edmund to play with was a typewriter. Most often, he just pushed random buttons on it, sometimes in patterns, and occasionally he wrote words. The top sheet that the Doctor handed him was a page from Edmund's typewriter.

_ba9l6knj-p?h23_ _  
_kn9hun248tstf4*pbcc_  
_heutometrajedehn_  
_i am not here_  
_i am here__

_jjj6ddd6bbb6_ _  
_so we can sing_  
_1_  
_heutometrajedehn_  
_i am not here_  
_i am here_  
_19801721256251341612100099725_  
_hello_  
_hello goodbye_  
_hello edmund_  
_dnn1jjh78r237459082576_  
_? hello_  
_41512937235011581114075144861_  
_k08bhip333120npdke__

"Which part am I looking at?"

"So we can sing," the Doctor said excitedly, pointing at the phrase. "It says 'so we can sing'!"

Harry was clearly missing something, but he tried to fit it together. "He can't talk, let alone sing. Have the crew been singing down here?"

"No. No, Harry, look!" The Doctor got the attention of his eyes and made a gesture, holding his right hand out to his side, as though he were holding something. Harry glanced to his left and saw Edmund watching them. He smiled widely at the Doctor's gesture and mimicked it, opening his mouth a little as he did so.

" _Ood_ , Harry!" the Doctor cried out happily. "He's trying to communicate like an Ood!"

"He picks up weird information from poking around in our heads all the time. Why is that important?"

"Ganbri described him doing that when they found him. Before he met us. Ganbri's never met an Ood in his life so how did Edmund pick up a memory of how Ood communicate?"

They compared all the major information they had gathered so far with this new thought.

Sometimes, Edmund sat in his cell, completely lifeless. He had no pulse, no breath, and no pupil responses. For all intents and purposes, he was dead. Once he had the typewriter, he began to write "I am not here" just before that happened and announced his return when he woke up. It seemed clear that Edmund's consciousness had been traveling, leaving his body behind, and they had always theorized that he was traveling through time, perhaps even universes. He could somehow cause his body to become ethereal, able to walk through solid objects as though he didn't exist and often chose to do so rather than use doors or entrance ways. He gathered most of his information through what seemed to be telepathic means and struggled to learn or understand anything that involved the physical world.

Clearly, having a body was something relatively new, even after all these years. The physical world made little sense to him, so his physical body made little sense as well.

Ood communicated through their minds, with the help of a little technology. Of course, Edmund had latched on to that idea of communication over actual speech and seemed confused as to why it didn't work. It still didn't explain _how_ he  _knew_  how Ood communicate, but it gave them an idea of how to teach him to communicate like a human.

Within minutes, they were inside the cell. Harry felt his hearts beating a bit faster as the Doctor carefully guided the creature's long fingers to wrap around his own throat. He sang. He spoke. He hummed. Edmund's eyes widened and his head tilted back and forth, trying to understand. Harry had to fight every urge he had to seize Edmund by the shoulders and rip him away when his hand began to glow and his fingers sunk below the Doctor's flesh, but this was how they had hoped he would learn.

The Doctor made a few odd sounds as Edmund felt around, exploring his vocal cords and throat. More than once it became obvious that he cut off the Doctor's air supply for a moment—likely on purpose, Harry realized, to see what it would do. Eventually, the ghostly hand moved downward and felt his lungs. Edmund began to open his mouth and making breathy sounds, trying to mimic the movements that he felt inside the Doctor's body.

Harry's hearts continued to beat faster, goose bumps appeared on his skin, and his hair stood on end. He still didn't trust Edmund. He didn't trust anything with that sort of power willingly sitting in captivity and allowing itself to be scolded when it misbehaved. They still had no idea how or why he came across the void, and he hated the thought of this creature toying with his husband's vital organs like a child pulling apart a remote control car to find out how it works.

Suddenly, it felt too hot. He was afraid. He didn't like Edmund touching the Doctor. He didn't trust him. He could hurt him. He could hurt them all. They should have found a way to dispose of him the moment he came through the void. They should have sent him back. They should have stopped him coming through. What kind of monster was he allowing to put his husband in such danger? How could they let him near the children? The boys were young enough to listen to what they were told, but Kahlia was stubborn and too curious for her own good. What might this thing do to her?

Edmund's hand withdrew from the Doctor's throat quite suddenly and his bright, glowing eyes turned to Harry instead. Suddenly, Edmund began to stand, moving from his crouching stance and drawing up his full height. Harry gritted his teeth and his muscles tensed, but somehow he felt that he couldn't move as the thing towered over him.

One long, thin finger stretched out towards him and moved closer.

Harry opened his eyes to find he was clutching a garbage can in his hands. He wasn't in the cell anymore and, apparently, he'd been vomiting. The Doctor was rubbing his back and fussing.

"Harry? Say something. Are you okay? Harold, tell me what happened. Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Harry answered, putting the garbage can down. He could feel that his stomach was clearly already empty.

He looked up, and saw a small crowd gathered in the doorway that led back out to main hall. Ganbri looked sick with worry, Annie looked as though she were close to tears, and Declan appeared to be holding his breath. Celeste stared with observant eyes while Doug was watching Edmund, not missing a thing—four eyes and one mind, those two.

"What happened?" the Doctor asked again.

He thought hard, but he couldn't remember. He just said the last thing that he did remember. "I was starting to have an attack," Harry said quietly. "I was stressing out and I started to get confused." He looked up at all their worried faces and shrugged. "I'm fine."

No one looked convinced, but Harry wasn't lying. He felt fine. He felt relaxed. He even felt like he had gained back some of his energy from the morning training. A dozen doubtful eyes watched him but, when he found J.J. looking at him, he was the only one who looked calm. The Alreesh boy held eye contact for a long moment and then nodded his head once.

Harry had no idea what he meant, but he found himself nodding back and had an inexplicable feeling that he was in on some sort of secret. He was confused more than before yet, somehow, he felt that he understood more than he did a moment ago.

"I have to go to work," he announced, getting to his feet. "Keep working with him. Get Doug to try—his body is bigger and the movements will be more obvious."

Doug frowned. "I didn't volunteer for that," he protested. "You just got all fucked up. I don't want that."

"You'll be fine," Harry answered him. "It's perfectly safe."

He didn't know how he knew that. But he believed it.

The teleport took him to Jenny's home. She lived quite close to the university and had graciously agreed to let Harry use the teleport to save him an hour of travel. He hated using the public transit system, but the traffic was so horrible that driving wasn't exactly agreeable either.

Her humble home was perfectly spotless, as usual. She certainly didn't take after her father when it came to keeping a house, that much was certain. Harry showered and groomed himself for work, but Jenny never appeared. She must have gone out for the day already. He walked over to the kitchen fridge and reached up for the notepad she had stuck to the door of it, scribbling a quick message.

_Missed you. Pint tonight?_

It was hot in his lecture hall. He could see his students struggling to focus, sweating and using papers to fan themselves while he spoke. He never once looked at Ganbri, halfway up the seats, and saw him without something in his hands acting as a fan. His son had always been a good student but today, even for him, not much was sinking in.

The Doctor texted him countless times throughout the day, checking up on him. He didn't know how many times he had to explain that he felt perfectly fine before he would finally be believed. He decided to start flirting instead of trying to reassure his husband—it seemed to work, and the Doctor had soon forgotten his worries over the promise of an intimate evening.

He had a meeting in the late morning that he struggled to sit through. He kept turning his gaze to the windows, staring longingly outside. For some reason, he just kept remembering his childhood on Gallifrey and how he spent his days racing through red fields and exploring silver forests on the cold mountainside, and he wanted nothing more than to be out in the sun and the fresh air. He wanted to climb trees again.

The moment the meeting ended, he rose to his feet, caught the eyes of the friends he had there, and announced, "Let's go outside."

Brandon looked at him curiously and smiled, his wobbly double-chin sweating in the heat. "We were thinking of going to the cafe ‘round the corner for lunch."

Sarah nodded enthusiastically. "The one with the great air conditioning."

Harry frowned at them both and turned towards Mark and Claire for support. "It's beautiful outside."

"You hate the heat more than any of us, Harry," Mark answered, blinking. "Surely, you'd rather be someplace cool for lunch?"

"You're all old and boring," Harry answered, shaking his head. "The cafe will be packed and we always go there. Let's eat outside today."

They looked at him a bit oddly, smiling with uncertainty. He understood why. He thought it was quite odd himself, so he couldn't very well blame them for thinking so.

"I've . . . got a blanket in my office somewhere," Sarah offered timidly. "We could lay it on the grass."

Harry flashed her his best smile. "Excellent."

And so, on the hottest day of the year yet, Harry found himself enjoying his lunch in the shade of a tree. Something about having a picnic on school grounds seemed to bring out the inner-children of his colleagues, and their meal involved more laughing and not nearly as much talk about lesson plans, funding, and politics as it usually did.

Michael Turner, from Anthropology, strolled past at some point and was invited to join them. Then Landon Scott and Jordan Finch from Chemistry, and Stephen Nolin from the Physics department. The fresh air seemed to do them all a bit of good. It was a funny thing really—Harry couldn't imagine why they had never thought of doing it before.

His afternoon class had an even harder time than his morning class. He watched them slowly melting in their seats. He felt fairly certain that, whatever class he was in now, Ganbri was probably reaching the point where the heat was making him ill. While his students guzzled water and slowly slumped downward in their seats, Harry's mind was back on the mountainside with his best friend, feeling frost crunch beneath his feet and listening to the kukrari chittering in the trees. When the class was over and Harry gathered his things, he closed his eyes for a moment and missed his home terribly. He missed Qhoya and the way she hummed whenever she worked in her garden. He missed Jinnar's ten thousand questions every day and pulling at his sleeve. For a second, he even missed his mother. He remembered a time when he was terribly sick with a fever and she gently applied a cool cloth to his forehead and stroked his cheek, telling him stories from when she was a little girl. He could almost feel the cold water on her fingers when she touched his skin and remembered that being more comforting than the cloth was.

He opened his eyes and was shocked to feel them stinging ever so slightly. He shook his head, took a deep breath, and turned his attention back to his papers, his brief case, or his phone—anything, really.

He hadn't thought about his mother in a long time.

He swore quietly under his breath and hurriedly wiped his eyes. He scooped everything up that he needed and headed for the labs.

Progress had been slow lately. He had been gently nudging the crew with hints and hypothetical questions, trying to help them without showing that he already had the answers. This time around was proving particularly difficult.

Eventually, he gave up and made his way over to the youngest person on the team. It was never a surprise to have the young ones suggest something radical. Harry asked her a few routine questions, catching up on what she'd been doing, then casually mentioned he had heard that she wanted to try a certain method that hadn't been tried before.

She stared at him blankly, brows furrowed, clearly not sure what to say.

"I think it's a good idea," Harry assured her quickly. "Yeah, good thinking.  _New_. I like that."

"Uh, thank you, Professor," she answered uncertainly. "I'll get started on that right away."

Harry clapped her shoulder and smiled. Hopefully, within a year or two, she might get credited with some great discovery.

A few signed papers, a few formal checks, and several handshakes and expected social gestures later, and Harry's obligations for the day were done.

Jenny was waiting for him in the shade of the same tree he'd had his lunch under.

"I had a picnic there today," Harry told her, pointing at the spot as he approached. "With the other teachers. Like a bunch of kids."

Jenny smiled wide. Smiling always came so easy to her. "Was it fun?"

"It was actually."

"Maybe you should do it more often then." She stepped up beside him and slid her arm in his, quickly matching her footsteps to his own. "You look good today. Rested . . . Did you skip your workout?"

" _No_ ," Harry answered quickly. "I think they just must be starting to do me some good."

"Good," She grinned. "Maybe I should start going too."

Jenny was always good company. Even on the darkest days, she was a ray of sunshine. On a good day, like today, she embraced other people's happiness and seemed to bath in it, simply glowing with the positive energy around her and amplifying it until no one could look at her without smiling.

She had always been kind to Harry and she had worked hard to be a good role model for Ganbri since the moment she saw him. Harry still remembered how he felt when the first Father's Day had come around after she joined them on Earth. He had expected that he and his husband would part ways at some point, so that the Doctor could spend some time with his daughter. Instead, Jenny showed up at their home, eyes shining and her face lit up with joy. She shouted "Happy Father's Day!" so suddenly that it seemed she'd been bursting to shout it her whole life and then, without blinking or hesitating or taking even a split second to think about it, she threw her arms around the Doctor and Harry both.

He remembered how that felt. Standing frozen on the spot, unsure of what to do, while she squeezed tight and gave them each a kiss on the cheek. She had made plans to take the both of them to dinner—with Ganbri, of course—and had a gift for each of them. Jenny was so full of love and acceptance that no part of her had ever even considered the fact that she and Harry weren't actually related.

They were family.

He found himself smiling fondly at the memory of it—the feeling of realizing that he was loved by someone when he had never done anything to earn it. He just existed. That was enough for her.

"Do you think Ganbri would go with me?"

He blinked, realizing that he'd been so caught up in memories that he hadn't been listening. "Ganbri?"

Jenny smiled knowingly but didn't accuse him of not paying attention. "I want to take ballroom dancing lessons, but I need a partner."

Harry frowned. "I'm not sure that's really his thing."

"I bet I could convince him," she responded, smirking with a sly look in her eye. "If I told him it was some sort of bonding experience or something and it was really important to me, I could guilt him into it."

He was about to remind her that he knew how to dance quite well and could teach her himself when something caught his eye. Up ahead, sitting on the street corner, was an all-too-familiar blue box.

Jenny followed his eyes. "Is that the TARDIS?"

Harry nodded, frowning. "It won't be ours though. It's from somewhere else in the Doctor's timeline." He could tell by the marks on the ship that it was a younger version—the paint a little newer, a couple of scratches missing from one side. He looked around him, keeping an eye out for a familiar face in the street.

"That's kind of exciting, isn't it?" Jenny said happily. "We should go in that pub! We can keep a look out the window and sneak a peek at him. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Part of Harry disagreed, thinking that it was probably safest to simply stay away, but part of him was curious. Which Doctor was here and why? Was something exciting or dangerous about to happen? He let Jenny lead him by the hand into an old pub positioned right across the street from where the TARDIS was parked.

The dark wood and dim lighting inside made it instantly seem like evening, as long as he didn't look out the windows and see the glaring sunlight outside. The pub wasn't as full as he would have liked, but he supposed there were enough people inside that he could probably disappear into the background if he had to.

"I'm starving," Jenny announced, parking herself at one of the stools right at the bar. "Are you hungry? I could really use some chips. Maybe a burger or something."

Harry sat down next to her and turned on his stool so that he was facing Jenny, which also allowed him to face the windows that looked out onto the street behind her. Jenny had never seen any of her father's other faces, so she wouldn't know him even if she saw him. He'd have to keep an eye out for them both.

Jenny ordered them some food and a couple of drinks and happily chatted away while they waited. She asked him about some of the Doctor's past selves and what he was like when he was young. Harry kept one eye on the window while he answered, and they had a few good chuckles at the Doctor's expense as they shared some stories about him.

After twenty minutes or so, Harry spied something suspicious.

"Look," he said, gesturing with his chin towards the window.

Jenny turned in her seat and almost immediately spotted what Harry had seen. "Is that him?"

There was a man on the sidewalk, wearing a black shirt with long-sleeves and a high collar, hands in his pockets, and a grey paperboy cap. It was far too hot a day to be dressed in something so warm and Harry immediately suspected that the man was trying to hide something.

He looked closer. The man's skin was deathly pale, almost bordering on a shade of blue, though it was hard to tell as the only skin that was visible was his face, and the cap was shadowing some of it.

"No," Harry answered quietly. "But either he's ill or he's not human. He might be with the Doctor."

The man stood outside the window with an amused smile on his face, looking back the way he'd come as though he were watching something. A moment later, the Doctor came into view.

It was a face that Harry had never seen with his own eyes, but he'd seen it in the Doctor's memories before. He looked older, with a strong nose and eyes that seemed to hide in shadow. His hair was dark and short, like Ganbri's.

"That's him," Harry whispered excitedly.

Jenny's mouth fell open a little. " _Him_? He's wearing black jeans, a purple jumper, and a leather jacket. You're saying _that's_ Dad?"

"Trust me, it's actually one of the least surprising things I've ever seen him wear."

"I guess he does wear T-shirts and tennis shoes with his suits."

They watched a moment as the Doctor and his friend talked outside. They seemed to be disagreeing on something. It was then that Harry noticed his friend was pointing towards the pub door and, when Harry paid attention to how his lips moved, seemed to be saying something like "too hot". The Doctor shook his head again and the other man simply shrugged his shoulders, pulled his hands out of his pockets, and began rolling up his sleeves.

In the sunlight, Harry could plainly see that his skin was a light tint of blue. When the Doctor quickly grabbed his hands to stop him, the colour subtly shifted, adding a little hint of green to the flesh.

" _Ennyeseth_ ," Harry whispered, half to himself.

"Ohh, I've seen them," Jenny chimed in, eagerly watching the pair. "There's lot of them on Satellite J5. Most people there call them Mood Skins, but they didn't care for it much. They aren't interstellar travelers in this time yet, are they?"

"Neither are humans," Harry reminded her. "It doesn't stop the Doctor."

The man being Ennyeshan didn't mean anything significant to Jenny. She hadn't lived the Nightmare's War yet. She never saw the Howling Ghost that fought at their side without ever telling them why and disappeared afterwards without ever saying goodbye.

His name was Ghanje.

 _Is_ , Harry reminded himself.  _He's still alive right now._

He watched, feeling a little spellbound, as his husband and a dead man walked into the pub. Ghanje removed his hat, revealing a head of thick black hair, riddled with hints of blue. He had the same petite build as most Ennyeseth tended to have, but his eyes were bright blue instead of the usual silver or green of his people. The lighting in the pub helped to camouflage the odd colour of his skin and he happily rolled up his sleeves.

"What do they eat here? What should we have?" Ghanje asked, rubbing his hands together happily.

The Doctor shrugged. "Fish and chips are always good."

"I don't want fish and chips. I've had that. Get me something  _new_."

The two sat down at the bar, just around the corner from them with their backs to the windows. Harry had a clear view of both, but he wasn't sure which one fascinated him more.

"You've not had steak yet," the Doctor suggested next. "Steak and beer is quite traditional on Earth."

"What is steak?"

"It's a big slab of meat. You can have them cook it just enough so that you don't get sick or you can have it pretty well burned to nothing but a lump of charcoal."

"It's not anything dodgy like people, is it?"

"No, it's beef."

"And I'm assuming beef aren't people?"

"Beef comes from cows."

Ghanje frowned at him, looking annoyed. "And  _cows_  aren't people?"

The Doctor clapped Ghanje on his shoulder and smiled in a way that looked a bit condescending. "Don't worry. You can eat cows."

"I don't like that you won't say they aren't people."

The Doctor sighed and rolled his eyes. "Cows aren't people."

Harry jumped when a plate of food was put down in front of him, so distracted with listening to the pair across from him. Jenny seemed startled too, but she recovered easier, smiling and thanking the bartender.

"We have to stop staring," she whispered urgently to him. "They'll notice us. Eat your chips."

Harry tried his hardest to eat without looking like he was hanging on their every word. They talked a bit about London and the Doctor went on about some of the wonderful things that the city had to offer that they could go and see. Ghanje didn't seem starry-eyed and twitterpated like most of the Doctor's companions did. He was amazed by the city and the people and the technology, but he clearly wasn't the sort to be led around like a puppy.

"I want to go to one of these clubs I keep hearing people mention," Ghanje said, carefully sipping at his beer, trying to decide if he liked it or not.

"They're mostly for dancing, really," the Doctor answered with a bored tone.

"Then I want to go dancing."

"I don't really dance."

"That's fine. You tell me where to go and I'll go dancing without you."

Harry watched the Doctor's face and saw that he was a little hurt by the comment, though this body of his clearly liked to portray a tough exterior.

"I'm not letting you run around the city by yourself," the Doctor said irritably. "Especially at night."

"That's fine too. I'll find a local to take me around and meet up with you later."

The Doctor scoffed. "A local? How do you plan to get a local to play tour guide to a stranger all night?"

"Easily enough," Ghanje took another sip of his beer and nodded his head in their direction. "There's a cute blond over there who keeps staring at me."

Jenny choked on her chips and quickly turned in her seat towards Harry, trying to hide her face from the other two. Harry nearly spat up his drink at the same moment and hurriedly pretended that he had spilled some of it on his shirt, giving him an excuse to look down and shift about on his stool, desperately trying to hide his face.

"So much for not being noticed," Jenny chuckled quietly, joining Harry in his ruse and handing him a handful of napkins.

He heard the Doctor and Ghanje chuckle at them a bit and carry on their conversation. "I didn't think I was staring," Harry grumbled, sneaking glances to see when the other two had stopped paying attention to them.

"Uh, I think he was talking about me, Harry," Jenny said in a voice that implied she was stating the obvious.

"We're both blond."

"Yeah, but  _I'm_  cute."

Harry frowned out her, his mouth dropping open slightly. "I'm offended."

"Be offended," she answered simply, sitting back in her seat and crossing her arms. "You're a man. You're all rugged and stuff. If he were talking about you, he wouldn't have used the word 'cute'. He would've used something else. It doesn't matter anyway."

"It does a little bit!" Harry scowled.

Before anyone left, the Doctor went to the washroom and gave them a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Jenny bounded over to Ghanje, smiling her best smile and using her most friendly voice. There was a bit of small talk—asking him if he was new in town and saying how much she loved the blue in his hair. He seemed friendly enough, beaming at her and asking her a few questions about the city, including if she knew of a good "one of those dancing club places" for him to go to.

"I want my friend to go with me, but he's a bit shy," Ghanje explained. "Maybe you would like to go? Or maybe your friend would like to go with me?"

Harry shifted in his seat again, trying to hide his face. He didn't know why he was bothering though, when Ghanje had clearly seen him. He wondered if Ghanje remembered him when they met again, so many years later in the heat of battle? Did he know who he was and just never said anything?

Jenny cleared her throat, sounding slightly embarrassed. "Oh, that's actually my father." Then, after a brief and awkward pause. "He's married."

"Shame," Ghanje said with a smile. "Let me know if you change your mind? I don't have many friends and I would like to have more. You seem like you would make a good friend."

Jenny didn't know he'd met Ghanje in the future. She couldn't possibly know. But Harry felt annoyed anyway when she grabbed Ghanje's hand and dragged him over to him.

"In case we don't see you again," Jenny said happily, pushing Ghanje in between them, slipping her arm around them both to squeeze them together, and raising her phone in the air. "I want a picture to remember you by!"

After the photo, Harry quickly made an excuse for them to leave and took Jenny's arm. They crept off to the farthest walls of the pub, taking advantage of its odd shape and the little nooks in the walls where booths had been set up. Harry didn't want Ghanje introducing the Doctor to his new friends upon his return.

They hid in the shadows and watched as the Doctor returned. Everything about the Time Lord's body language had changed to show himself as more open and friendly. Perhaps he'd changed his mind about not taking Ghanje where he wanted while he had a moment to think alone.

And then they were gone.

Harry felt a bit sad about it.

"You think Dad will be happy with this?" Jenny asked, holding up her phone to show the photo she had taken of the two of them with Ghanje. "I doubt he has any photos of most of his friends."

"It's hard to say," Harry answered truthfully. "I'm sure he'll like it, but it might make him sad."

"Why?" Jenny's eyes widened and she clutched the phone to her chest as if she were suddenly afraid it might break or be stolen from her. "Do you know who he is? Is he dead?"

Harry smiled a little. "I just know he's gone."

They walked back to Jenny's place, chatting over what had happened and teasing each other. Jenny had decided that she would give the photo to the Doctor after all, but that Harry should give him a little warning first. It seemed like the best plan.

She kissed him on the cheek and wished him a good evening before he stepped into the teleport.

He returned to Torchwood, planning to see Edmund again and hoping to find the Doctor still there.

The place was as quiet now as it had been in the morning. The only evidence to show that people had been there was a missing bike from the wall, and a pile of papers and a coffee cup on one of the central working stations. No doubt Declan was still there somewhere, surviving off of caffeine and determination alone in his never-ending quest to catch up on paperwork and keep everything running smoothly.

The concrete echoed his footsteps as he walked down the empty halls. How large did Jack plan to make the Torchwood team with this much space? At the moment, he had a team of nine, but headquarters seemed large enough to easily work for an organization of hundreds. The man was immortal, Harry realized, so perhaps his dreams were bigger than they had ever thought.

The Doctor was gone. His pile of notes was sitting on a chair in the hallway, facing Edmund's holding cell. He had clearly been down there for hours, scribbling away notes and attempting to communicate. There was a sticky note on top of the pile, written in thick marker for whoever was first to find it.

_HE SPOKE._

Harry looked through the Plexiglas wall at the creature on the other side. Edmund sat, crouched in the corner. He had a bundled-up blanket in his hands and watched Harry with observing and yet distant eyes.

He picked up the pile of notes and sat down in the chair, flicking through them. The Doctor had started countless numbers of equations that led to nowhere, either trailing off into nothing or being furiously scratched out. There were bullet lists of things that they knew and things that they didn't. Most of it was all things he'd heard before in the years that they'd been trying to unlock the secrets of the Ghost.

It wasn't until he was on the fifth page that something caught his attention.

_How would you talk to an amoeba?_

"Hello."

Harry's head shot up. Edmund had silently crept up to the glass wall separating them, still clutching his blanket. He smiled.

"Harry," Edmund said, in an odd sounding low, whispery voice that didn't sound anything close to human. "Hello, Harry."

Harry froze for a moment. "Hello, Edmund."

Edmund's smile widened. "Hello."

Okay. So he spoke. It seemed that he still didn't have much to say. Harry continued reading the notes, trying not to get creeped out by the occasional chirp of "Hello". The Doctor had written down his new theory so quickly that the handwriting was a complete mess—he had even written some in Gallifreyan, he was so distracted.

They had known all along that Edmund was a far more advanced being than they were aware of, but the Doctor was proposing something on a grand scale. How would a Time Lord, or even a human, talk to an amoeba? Humans know they exist. They watch them. Experiment with them. Control their very lives. They could be quite intimately connected with each other and, yet, the amoeba had no idea that the human existed. A human was simply too big for it to be aware of and too different to communicate with. Even if a human had desperately wanted to speak to an amoeba, how could they possibly do it? Where would you even start?

Harry glanced up at Edmund again—at his odd, misshapen body that had taken him so long to build and so long to learn how to control—and realized what the Doctor's conclusion had been.

"Friend," Edmund suddenly piped up. "Help. Friend."

Harry's brows knitted together as Edmund lifted the bundle in his hands. The blanket was covering something. And it was moving.

"What is that?" Harry asked, perhaps too sharply.

Edmund held his hands out, but the blanket kept the moving thing from view. "Help, Harry." Edmund repeated.

Harry hit the button on the wall beside the cell to open the door. He didn't know why they kept it locked anyway when Edmund could simply travel through the walls. He hurriedly took the bundle from Edmund's hands and pulled at the blankets to reveal what he had been hiding.

A tiny, grey kitten was wiggling around underneath. It was so small that its eyes were barely open. Tiny needle-like claws reached out, gripping whatever they could find as it mewed pathetically. Its fur was wet, some areas appeared slick with oil, and a patch on its shoulder was missing the fur completely.

"Where did you get this?"

Edmund smiled again and touched a single finger to his own forehead. "Edmund help." Then he turned his head, his finger still touching his forehead, then turned the same finger to point down the hallway where he was still looking. "Help."

Harry frowned, wondering what Edmund wanted him to go find. He moved to stride down the hallway but Edmund's long fingers shot outward and gripped his arm. They were cold as ice and Harry suddenly felt like he couldn't move. He stared at the creature before him, watching as those silver eyes glazed over with a strange, distant look.

"Friend. Doctor. My friend. Harry." Edmund babbled repeatedly, his eyes misting over as though they were seeing through time itself. "My friend. Doctor. Help."

The next words that came from Edmund's mouth sounded more focused than anything he had said yet, as if he had somehow tapped into a part of his mind that knew how to communicate what he wanted to say.

"Help my friend," Edmund said, his voice deeper and even less human than before, somehow sounding like it was coming from far away. "Or this one will die."

Edmund let go of his arm. His eyes suddenly shifted, becoming clear and present again. He smiled at Harry. "I am here."

Harry stared at the thing with wide eyes and felt his hearts thundering in his chest. If Edmund was announcing that he was there now, then who was there a moment ago?

He clutched the kitten to his chest and hurried down the hallway in the direction that Edmund had pointed. There was nothing in the other holding cells, except a sleeping Weevil in one. He reached the end of the hall and found a door that he had never gone through before. Without thinking, he pushed through it.

It was a small and bare room, set up with a simple desk and chair to one side and a small military cot on the other. But sitting on the floor, against the far wall, was J.J.

Harry almost dropped the kitten at the sight of him. There was blood all over his hands and on the floor. His shirt had been discarded to some corner of the room and a small pile of bandages and medical supplies sat beside him.

J.J.'s bright golden eyes looked up at him, looking almost fearful at getting caught in such a state. "Hello, sir," he said quietly. "Did you need help with something?"

Harry quickly put the kitten down on the cot, the poor thing's mewling cries becoming much louder. "What the hell happened?" Harry demanded, kneeling beside the boy to get a better look.

"It went clean through," J.J. answered quickly. "I'm fine, sir. It just needs cleaning up. That's all."

He'd been shot. Harry could clearly see the bullet hole just above his right hip, barely missing the bone. He grabbed J.J.'s elbow, forcing him to move his arm and sit forward so that he could get a look at the back. There was an exit wound out the other side, creating the main source of the bleeding.

"You have a  _doctor_  on the crew," Harry growled at him. "What are you doing hiding in here and trying to dress this yourself? Where is Presley?"

J.J. began lifting his chin in submission and Harry couldn't even tell if he was aware he was doing it. "I didn't tell them I'd been hit," he answered simply.

"Why the fuck not!?"

J.J. flinched, one of his arms twitching upward as though he half expected that he would need to defend himself. Harry felt an instant stab of guilt and forced himself to take a deep breath and push his anger aside.

"J.J.," he began again, slowly and as calmly as he could manage. "Why wouldn't you tell the others?"

"Ganbri is my backup," the Alreesh boy answered quietly. "He's always my backup."

Harry began picking through the supplies on the floor, grabbing a bottle of saline to wash the wound with. "He didn't cover you?"

"He did," J.J. assured him quickly. "He rolled an ankle and was having trouble keeping up. I ran at the front to clear the way and told him to watch our backs. It was no one's fault. Things happen on this job. But Ganbri would think it was his fault and I needed him to be thinking clearly. The bullet went clean through and I know how to dress the wound."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the boy. "You could have passed out from the bleeding and been in here all night, and then where would you be?"

"Probably dead," J.J. answered without hesitation.

"Do you see how stupid that is?"

"Yes, sir."

"Call me Harry, Jack."

J.J. blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"You yelled at me this morning."

"I apolo—"

"You're my trainer," Harry interrupted. "You're supposed to yell at me. That's how I learn. Just like me yelling at you for hiding out in here with a bullet wound. Right now, right here, I am in charge. But, in the gym, you are in charge. Don't you think that makes us equals?"

J.J. looked up at him with uncertainty. "I hadn't really thought of it that way before."

Harry lifted a finger to poke at J.J.'s chest, the muscle proving to be more solid than he expected. The boy was small, but what he did have was pure muscle. Harry admired the carved shape of the muscles surrounding J.J.'s arms and chest, wondering how many years it would take him to reach that point.

"I want to look like you," he began. "All chiseled and strong so that my husband likes to look at me."

"I assure you—"

"I need to know that you're up to the task of being my trainer, and helping me look like that," Harry interrupted again, not having the patience for J.J.'s polite assurances. "If you're going to be my trainer—and a good one–you can't keep thinking of me as your superior. At least here, at Torchwood, in  _your_  territory, you should call me Harry. Or Mott, if you prefer."

J.J. actually smiled a little bit. "Then you will call me Jack."

"Yes, Jack," Harry allowed a quick smile before returning to his stern voice. "And if I ever find out you've been injured and didn't report it again, we are going to have a serious problem. You can't train me if you're crippled or dead, you understand?"

He felt J.J.'s body jump slightly and Harry was certain that, if he had been standing, he would have saluted out of pure instinct. "Yes, s—uh, Harry."

Harry finished applying the bandage in silence. He felt those golden eyes watching his every move and saw J.J. shift or take a breath a few times as though he were going to say something, but kept changing his mind.

Harry suspected there was more to why J.J. would hide such a serious wound than just saving his friend the guilt. He knew that it was probably part of his nature to hide injury and weakness, being an Alreesh. Maybe he didn't want to worry Kevin, who was still healing from his surgery. Maybe he didn't want to worry Jack, who still regularly expressed concern about J.J. not living at home. It was difficult to say.

He secured the bandage and grabbed J.J.'s hand to help him to his feet. "Something on your mind?" he asked as casually as he could.

J.J. looked at his feet, looked at the wall, shifted his weight and put a hand to his fresh bandage when the movement pained him. His mouth opened a couple of times, but no words came out.

"Don't be shy now, Jack."

J.J. cleared his throat and shifted his weight again. He was moving his arms across his body now, as if he were suddenly aware that he was shirtless and felt vulnerable.

"If I, uh, were to ever need advice about something," he began, continuing to avoid eye contact, but his words trailed off into awkward silence.

"You know you can tell me anything," Harry assured him quickly. "We're family." When J.J. didn't say anything, Harry frowned slightly. "Is it something you might be better off asking Jack about? Or . . . is it something you want to ask Jack with someone else there?"

"No," he muttered quietly in return. "I think you're probably the one to talk to."

Harry parted his hands and held his arms apart slightly, trying to make his body language appear open and friendly. J.J. communicated far more with body language than anyone Harry had ever met and he knew he wouldn't talk if Harry's body didn't say he was willing to be receptive.

"I'm free now."

J.J. hesitated, thinking, fidgeting. His fingers looked for his absent cigarettes again. "No," he answered finally. "It's okay." He crossed his arms, even though Harry could see him wince from the pain of the movement. He wasn't going to talk today.

"You talk to me when you're ready?"

J.J. nodded his head quickly. "Yeah."

"Do me a favour," Harry said, quickly changing his tone and stance to let J.J. know that he was allowing the subject to change. "I've got something that needs taking care of." He scooped the mewing kitten off of the bed and pushed it into the boy's hands. "You're good with kids."

J.J. blinked at the tiny animal but, even as he spoke, he instinctually began to cradle it against the warmth of his chest. "Are you . . . Are you being racist, sir?"

"That's 'Are you being racist,  _Harry_ '," he corrected, grinning. "Edmund had it. I'm guessing he travelled outside of headquarters and found it in a pipe or something. Someone needs to help it."

He left J.J. to clean up the mess from his wound and wondered what would become of the kitten. He was aware that it was entirely possible that J.J. might eat it, rather than save it, but he hoped not. Maybe it would do the kid some good to have something defenseless to take care of and, heaven forbid, maybe even love.

Edmund's head turned like an owl's as Harry walked past his cell and gathered the Doctor's notes, watching him with his wide, round eyes.

"Goodbye," his odd, whispery voice echoed after him down the halls. "Goodbye, Harry."

He was almost at the teleport when he saw Kelevra standing at one of the work stations nearby, his hands folded over each other on a desk as if he were waiting for an appointment. Harry narrowed his eyes at him and wondered how long he had been sitting there and how he knew that Harry was coming back.

"Harry," Kel said pleasantly as the Time Lord approached, rising from his seat. "If you have a moment, I would like to discuss what happened today."

"Did you know that J.J. was hurt?" Harry hissed, grabbing the front of the doctor's coat before he even knew what he was doing.

Kel appeared unperturbed and simply smiled that eerie little smile of his. "As an outsider to the team, you may be unaware of this, but Nista is often hurt. Even those  _on_  the team rarely see that. He is small, more fragile than he cares to admit, and he takes large risks."

"He'd been shot," Harry answered angrily, releasing Kel's shirt.

"Yes, I thought that might have been what happened," the doctor answered calmly as he straightened out his clothing. "He was wearing a jacket when they returned, so I couldn't see a wound, but he was walking as if he were in pain and trying to pretend he wasn't. He's a stubborn man."

"You didn't help him."

"No."

Harry was a little thrown off by how calm Kel was. He was used to people being afraid or, at the very least, eager to fix the problem whenever he was angry. Kel didn't even seem bothered.

"I won't apologize for it," Kelevra continued, once he saw that Harry was listening. "Nista wanted to help himself and I let him. It's best that he learns how to effectively treat his own wounds. As I said, he is small, fragile, and takes risks. And people like Kevin and myself won't always be there to tend to his wounds. My job is to keep him alive, not to make things easy on him. I let him suffer today so that he doesn't die tomorrow. I wouldn't care to wear him next." The Zumecki doctor tilted the head on his stolen body and raised an eyebrow. "Do you think I was wrong?"

Harry caught sight of the computer screen beside Kel and saw that it was security footage of the holding cells. He could see, in one of the little windows, Nista cradling the grey kitten with one arm and turning his shirt over with the other, trying to decide if it was still wearable or not. That meant that the footage was live.

Kel had been watching. If J.J. had passed out, the doctor would have known, and he could have gone in to help him.

"Do you watch everyone?" Harry asked, pointing at the screen.

Kel didn't even turn to look at it. "Yes," he answered, smiling serenely. He looked Harry up and down, pausing when his eyes reached the notes in Harry's hands, a smear of oil on his shirt sleeve, a drop of blood on his wrist, the traces of grass stains on the knees of his trousers, and finally pausing to study his face. "But I don't usually need cameras, pet."

There was a long silence then. Harry glared at the Zumecki, unsure of whether he was still angry at him or not, and Kel simply smiled back.

"I have a gift for you," Kel blurted suddenly, his smile widening more. "You like gardening?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, not liking that he felt thrown off again. "Yes."

"I grew this for you," Kel said happily, pointing to a fern on a desk behind him. "They're quite calming, you know. That might be helpful to you. You seem like a man who could use something calming. This one is George."

When Harry didn't move, Kelevra scooped the fern up in his arms and held it out for Harry to take. "I would like us to be friends, Harry."

Harry hesitated a second, but did take the fern from Kel's arms. "Thank you."

"I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. It's calming," Kel answered with a wide smile. "Now, go home to your family. We'll talk another day."

Kel didn't wait for an answer. He bustled off to one of the many offices that lined the main tunnel and closed the door behind him without so much as a goodbye or a glance backward. Part of Harry wanted to follow the odd man and question him until he said something that made sense, but thought better of it.

Harry decided that Kel was a fucking weirdo and took his calming fern home.

Ganbri was sitting on the couch in the living room, icing his ankle and watching some documentary on squid. He laughed when he saw Harry's fern and said that, one by one, everyone seemed to be getting a fern from Kelevra.

"Mine is Roger," Ganbri said with a shake of his head, turning his eyes back to the TV. "J.J.'s pretty sure he puts drugs in them. We checked but couldn't find anything. I wouldn't put it anywhere near where you actually tend to sit or anything though, just in case. Who knows with him?"

The Doctor was busy in the kitchen, preparing dinner. He was in that focused kind of zone where he didn't like to be bothered, so Harry put his notes on the table, stole a quick kiss, and went upstairs to get dressed.

Ganbri told them about the exciting chase through the London streets from earlier that day, tracking down a gang of intergalactic slave smugglers. It sounded dangerous and exciting and Ganbri complained that he wasn't as much help as he would have liked because he injured his ankle jumping over a wall. He never mentioned J.J. getting hurt, so it must have been true that he simply didn't notice. Apparently, no one else did either. How many times had something like that happened?

Ganbri returned to his room to study after dinner, saying goodnight early as he didn't intend to come out again till morning. The Doctor picked up his stack of notes on Edmund and flopped with a huff onto the sofa.

"Get me a pencil, will you, lahrre?"

Harry frowned. "You've been working on that all day."

"No, I haven't," the Doctor answered quickly. "Well . . . I sort of haven't. I had a few patients to visit and then I got dinner together, so I wasn't working on it for that. Did he talk to you by the way? Edmund? When you picked up my notes?"

"He said hello."

The Doctor looked unimpressed. "Hello's good, I s'pose."

"He had a kitten."

That caught his attention. "A kitten?"

Harry smirked and said nothing. The Doctor took the hint and put his pile of notes down on the table. Then he gestured for Harry to sit on the sofa with him.

"He had a kitten?"

Harry sat down, pleased with himself, and began to tell his story. The Doctor laid back on the couch as he listened, occasionally interrupting with questions, and Harry pulled his husband's feet onto his lap. He watched the Doctor's face relax and his eyelids slide down ever so slightly as Harry massaged his feet and spoke. He told him about Edmund's kitten and Kel's fern. He told him about dragging his colleagues into the heat for a picnic on the grass and earned a few surprised laughs. He told him about his lovely outing with Jenny and their lunch at the pub.

"We saw you, you know," he added quietly.

The Doctor frowned. "I didn't go anywhere near Jenny's place today."

"A younger you."

His eyebrows raised up into his hairline. "Oh?"

"You were with someone. An Ennyeseth."

His eyebrows came back down into what was almost a frown, but he didn't say anything.

"You came into the same pub as us while we were having lunch," Harry explained quickly, carefully choosing not to mention that they were only in the pub so that they could get a good look at the younger version of the Doctor that they already knew was around somewhere. "It was kind of fun though. He seemed quite independent and you were a bit . . . Well, you seemed a little needy."

"I remember," the Doctor sighed, pouting. "He wanted to just leave me behind and go around with other people. It was quite rude."

Harry couldn't help but grin, finding it oddly enjoyable to watch his husband squirm a little in discomfort. "You were fucking him, weren't you?"

The Doctor's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. " _Harold_!" But his red face told all.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry answered, his grin extending. "Were you  _making love_?"

"Alright, just stop it," the Doctor said irritably, pulling his feet from Harry's hands and trying to get up from the couch.

Harry grabbed hold of his legs and started pulling, dragging him back onto the couch and holding on tight as he struggled and yelled to be released. "Well, which one was it? I mean, I know you like the colour blue but I didn't think that extended to  _people_. Should I get some blue body paint next time I'm out? Blue's not really my colour, I'm afraid."

"Harry, enough!" the Doctor roared, but an escaped chuckle betrayed him. "Let me go, right now!"

"Don't they turn green when they get all turned on? Did it sort of ruin it or did that make it better? Because I think green would work nicely—bring out the brown in my eyes."

The Doctor struggled more as Harry carried on, slowly losing his control over his attempts to sound stern and dissolving into a laughing mess. Eventually, he was too out of breath to keep struggling and allowed himself to get dragged onto Harry's lap and held firmly in place.

The Doctor wound up explaining that he and Ghanje were never in a relationship, nor were they interested in one. "He was lonely. I was lonely," he explained slowly, cheeks burning pink from embarrassment. "We both had a lot of stress and . . ." he cleared his throat and turned a brighter shade of pink. "Neither of us had . . .  _been_  with anyone for a long time, so . . ."

"So you were fucking him?" Harry offered again, grinning wickedly.

"We  _shared certain experiences_ ," The Doctor scowled at him. "I never mentioned it because I didn't want you to think it was something it wasn't and get jealous."

"Oh, of course not," Harry answered. "I wouldn't blame you for that one. He was quite cute for a blue person. I actually thought it was  _very_  interesting to see that he looked quite a bit like I did in my first body. Don't you think he did?"

"You weren't blue."

"He actually flirted with me a bit, you know?" Harry continued, completely ignoring the comment. "I liked it. I almost brought him home."

The Doctor's brows knitted together for a moment, working hard to remember, and then his face suddenly dawned with realization. "You were the cute blond at the bar."

"Jenny still insists that he was talking about her."

"Oh, my god."

"Your boyfriend tried to pick up your husband in front of your daughter. How does that make you feel?"

"He wasn't my boyfriend," the Doctor corrected sternly.

"Okay. Your fuck buddy tried to pick up—"

"Oh, no, that's ten times worse!"

Harry took pride in the fact that the Doctor never drifted off to that gloomy self of his that tended to come out when talking about old friends. He told Harry a few stories about travelling with Ghanje, including the night they first came to London and Ghanje absolutely  _insisted_  on going to a nightclub and then decided he hated nightclubs after being there for ten minutes. He even, with an  _enormous_  amount of teasing and reassurance that Harry wouldn't get jealous, told the story of how he and Ghanje had been screaming in anger at each other and then Ghanje had implied that the Doctor was "just being a bitch" because he hadn't had sex in a long time. Somehow, that turned into them screaming at each other about sex and took some very weird turns until Ghanje was essentially yelling at the Doctor that he was celibate because he didn't have the nerve to just kiss somebody if he wanted to.

So the Doctor kissed him.

And one thing led to another.

It sounded to Harry like Ghanje had intended the argument to end up that way all along.

He also suspected that perhaps the Doctor had secretly known that and chose to fall for the trick anyway.

Harry remembered watching the bodyless Ghanje soaring through the halls of Kahlia's ship, screaming furiously as he took out soldiers. The man he'd seen in the bar was small and attractive in a very nonthreatening sort of way—Harry would have sworn he was harmless if he didn't know what he'd done. It seemed odd to think that a man like that could stand up to the last Time Lord, fresh from the worst war in history, and scream in his face that he was a coward. But, when he combined the furious light he saw with the man in the bar, it wasn't so hard to imagine anymore.

They spent hours just talking. At one point, Ganbri popped his head out of his bedroom door and yelled down the stairs that he was trying to sleep and that they were laughing too much. He supposed that was a good thing.

Eventually, they decided to call it a night. They tidied up whatever mess was left in the kitchen together and then headed up the stairs. As they prepared for bed, he noticed the Doctor was trying to put on some kind of a subtle show for him—undressing slowly and in full view of Harry, stretching his arms when he had his shirt off, and taking a little too much care with his movements to look natural.

The pinch on the bum while Harry was brushing his teeth was less subtle.

The Doctor didn't hesitate to slip right over to Harry's side of the bed and attach himself to Harry's side. His fingers wandered, drawing random patterns on Harry's skin, talking softly of their own, old memories together. Twenty-five years they'd been living on Earth, and the stories from their domestic life were just as fun and memorable to them as their stories of adventures in the stars. At least they were to Harry.

The Doctor began pecking kisses here and there as he talked, just enough to keep Harry from getting sleepy. His fingers slowly drifted downwards in their little patterns, wandering lower and lower, until Harry decided to put an end to the teasing and slipped an arm beneath the Doctor's side to pull him on top of him.

The Doctor kissed his chest and his neck and his mouth and Harry felt his hearts speeding up and the heat rising in him. He didn't notice that the Doctor had been shifting around, removing his pyjamas, until the Doctor pressed his body firmly against Harry and he felt skin on skin.

He shut his eyes and just enjoyed the feel of it as the Doctor moved. He felt a hand reach down between them and took hold of them both, stroking them together while the Doctor's tongue explored his mouth. His Doctor worked hard until he finally earned an uncontrolled moan from Harry's mouth.

The Doctor paused momentarily, grinning impishly as he began to shift positions again. "Harry," he whispered, moving so he straddled his husband, kissing his neck and sending hot breath into his ear. "My Harry."

Harry bit his lip in anticipation, knowing what was coming. His hands slid down the Doctor's body, feeling every inch of him, running over the slight curve of his hips and around beyond. He told a firm hold of flesh in each hand, pulling slightly, spreading the Doctor's cheeks to make way for him.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"I love you," the Doctor said quietly, pulling away just enough to look Harry in the eye. "And I want to see if I can make you turn green."

The Doctor lowered himself and Harry's breath caught in his throat as the tight warmth enveloped him. His body was already so excited that he had to fight the urge to start bucking his hips immediately, his fingers clamping down on the Doctor's hips and trying to force himself in deeper.

As soon as he thought he had control over himself, the Doctor would squeeze the muscles inside him or let out the most delicious moans, and Harry had to fight to stop himself from flipping them over so that he could drive himself in as deeply and as hard as his body would allow him.

"You don't want to watch?" The Doctor's voice was teasing, challenging him. Harry bit down on his lip and grinned. He could never resist a challenge.

He opened his eyes and looked down. The Doctor had spread his legs wide, giving him a good view as he lowered himself over and over onto Harry, and he was using one of his own hands to stroke himself as he went. Harry couldn't help it—another moan escaped him at the sight, and his hands gripped tightly at the Doctor's hips to pull him down hard.

The Doctor gasped and shuddered. For a moment, he stayed still with Harry fully inside him, rotating his hips slightly, the muscles inside of him tensing and relaxing in a very deliberate pattern. Harry let his head fall back on the pillow, trying to keep the sounds escaping him at a reasonable volume.

The Doctor was gasping and sighing, with little moans escaping him here and there. He was trying to sound controlled, but Harry could hear his breath starting to grow heavy, coming in faster. The patterns in his movements were slowly becoming random as he lost focus, moving in whichever way his body told him to instead.

Harry reached down and took the Doctor's length in his hand, swirling his thumb around the tip a few times. "Kiss me," he ordered.

The Doctor obeyed without hesitation, leaning forward to bring their mouths together. Narin exchanged freely as their lips parted and tongues met again, helping them each to feel the pleasure of the other, on top of their own sensations. The Doctor started to moan unwillingly, losing himself as Harry's hand began to pump, his hips starting to thrust without his leave.

Suddenly, the Doctor pushed off of Harry's chest to sit up again, rising and falling with increasing speed. Harry watched, thrusting his hips upwards and matching the speed of his hand to that of the Doctor's movements.

The Doctor was gasping for breath so desperately that Harry almost didn't hear him when he panted, "I'm ready."

Harry took the cue to squeeze his hand around the Doctor just a little harder, and thrust upward with a little more force. The Doctor gasped again as his body tensed up, throbbing in Harry's hand as he came onto his husband's chest.

Harry watched eagerly and thrust hard with each new spurt, finally letting go of himself and letting his body do what it wanted. He moved both hands to the Doctor's hips again, afraid of squeezing too hard as he neared his own finish. He felt the Doctor's muscles squeeze him tightly one last time to push him over the edge, and Harry moaned loudly as he came inside his husband's body. He thrust a few more times, more slowly, savouring the feel of it as the pleasure ebbed and flowed into a retreat.

When he looked up again, the Doctor was looking down at him with a truly smug smile. "You didn't turn green."

"Neither did you."

"Hmm, I suppose that just proves that we're both actually Time Lords then," the Doctor answered merrily as he climbed off of Harry to fetch a towel from the hamper. "Although, really, every good scientist knows that you have to perform an experiment more than once before you can claim to have an answer."

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Mind if I catch my breath first?"

"I don't know why," the Doctor teased as he climbed back into the bed. "I did all the work."

"Well, next time, I'll do all the work," Harry promised, and then dropped his voice to an ominous pitch. "And then you'll be sorry."

The Doctor nestled himself in comfortably, his body shaping itself around Harry's effortlessly after years of practice. "I won't," he argued. "If I can't walk, that means I get to sit and read and watch telly all day and you'll have to stay home to do housework and take care of me, lest I starve. That sounds alright to me."

Harry chuckled and kissed his husband's forehead. "I love you, lahrre," he whispered into the tangle of dark hair. The Doctor hummed happily in return, his breathing already turning slow and even.

Harry closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	30. 2037 - Autophobia

** 2037 **

"Dad . . . Can I come home?"

Jack froze, speechless. No one had called him 'Dad' in almost thirty years. J.J. had taken his name but he had never, not once, called him his father. It could have meant that something was terribly wrong.

His eyes shifted across the room to where he had a gun stashed away and found his voice.

"Are you okay?"

There was a long pause. Jack couldn't help but imagine his boy as the child he was when they met, with his wide golden eyes looking around helplessly for some route to safety.

"I'm alone," came the simple answer.

That meant no.

"Stay there," Jack ordered in what he hoped was gentle enough to avoid making the boy worry, but firm enough to command obedience. "Don't go anywhere. I'm coming to get you."

There was almost no traffic as he drove. It was past two in the morning and the streets had been abandoned for the sake of warm beds and peace. He'd thrown one of his old fur blankets into the back of the car, along with a couple of tennis balls, to put in J.J.'s hands and stop him from puncturing his own palms.

He parked outside of the small house and killed the engine. Every light inside was off. It was completely silent. There was no indication that anything was wrong.

Jack knocked on the door softly a couple of times and continued to knock progressively louder as he unlocked and opened the front door.

"J.J.?" he called out, loud and clear, as he stepped over the threshold. "It's Jack."

He began turning on lights, carefully eying every doorway that he neared. J.J. had set traps in the house more than once when he was a child, suffering from panic and paranoia. Luckily, Jack's broken neck and cut open leg healed before the boy had seen him. He cleaned up the mess, gave J.J. an understanding but stern talking to, and learned to always check the doorways at night.

He only found one trap tonight. A small trip wire was in the doorway to the hall that led to the bedrooms, hooked up to a little bell and something that looked suspiciously like a dart gun. He hoped it was just a sedative, rather than a poison. Suddenly he found himself wondering where Kevin was.

He stepped carefully over the trip wire and removed the gun. If anyone tripped over it now, it would only set off the little bell.

"J.J., do you want some water?" he called out, trying to sound like his regular self and not like he was slowly creeping through the dark and looking for death traps. "Are you hungry? We could go out for something."

There was no answer. J.J. was stubborn that way. Whenever he asked for help, he immediately regretted it and kept his mouth shut. It could make the job of helping immensely difficult at times.

He found him in his bedroom, holed up in the floor of his closet with an assortment of weapons at his side. Jack saw golden eyes gleaming through the dark, staring wide and unblinking. He remembered the first time he ever spoke to him, tiny and afraid and hiding in a cramped space, just out of reach.

"Hey," he said, smiling a little as he peered in through the open doors of the closet. "Quite the arsenal you got there, kid."

He watched as the muscles in the boy's shoulders relaxed slightly. He had been so afraid as a boy, jammed in between whirring boxes of machinery, holding up a tiny, clawed foot to defend himself. He learned quickly enough that Jack was no one to fear then, and he was reminding himself of that now.

J.J.'s eyes turned down to the floor, ashamed. "I think I killed Lyle."

Jack's heart quickly sped up. "Who's Lyle?" he demanded, sounding more panicked than he had intended.

J.J. nodded his head in the direction of the corner behind him and, when he looked, Jack remembered that Lyle was only a fern. It did look rather pathetic, all withered and brown, but there was some green to it yet.

"Mine's been looking a little down lately, too," Jack answered with half a smile. "Maybe they just need some company. Can I come in?"

J.J. nodded and shifted off to the side, grabbing the handful of knives sitting next to him to give Jack a spot to sit. It had been a long time since Jack last did this—hiding under the bed, in the closet, or behind the sofa with his kid, like somehow that actually kept the evil of the world away.

J.J. sniffed and muttered quietly. "What's your one's name?"

"I don't remember," Jack shrugged.

"You should."

Jack smirked. Of course his boy would say that. It didn't matter that the fern was only a plant—Jack had accepted the responsibility of caring for it, so the least he could do was remember its name.

"Harris?" he suggested after a moment of thought.

J.J. nodded slowly. "Sounds about right."

They sat together in silence for a while. Jack just sat there, calm and relaxed, letting J.J. adjust to his presence. He took the time to take in the room, looking for hints and signs.

There were several cuts and scratches on the backs of J.J.'s hands and on his wrists. He'd seen him catch his hands on his teeth before, usually when he was in a panic and moving too quickly to pay attention. His leather bracelet containing his mother's skin was gone. Usually, J.J. played with the bracelet as a source of comfort, twisting it in his fingers or hooking it in his teeth—it was rare to see him without it. His hair was braided, which meant that he had seen Annabelle sometime earlier. There was a notebook on the floor in the corner of the closet, leaned against the wall with a pen, as though it had been there a long time.

"Are you keeping a journal?" Jack asked, gesturing towards the book.

J.J.'s eyes shifted over and he pulled his knees up to his chest. "Stories from Nu'akt."

Jack narrowed his eyes.  _Nu'akt_.

"You mean your home?" he asked cautiously.

J.J. didn't say anything.

Jack sighed and let his head rest against the wall at the back of the closet. He stretched his arm around J.J.'s shoulders and pulled him close. The boy didn't resist.

"You called me Dad," Jack said quietly.

"I know," came the barely audible reply.

"You always said—"

"Nuek was my father," J.J. interrupted quickly, his voice quiet but firm. "That's different. He was only responsible for my birth. You are responsible for my life. You're my Dad. You should be told that at least once."

Jack felt a little stinging in his eyes and a sudden swell in his throat. He blinked them away and squeezed J.J. a little tighter, kissing him on the top of his head. "I love you, kid."

He didn't expect an answer, knowing that some things were just too hard for J.J. to say. But the boy swallowed hard, stammered once or twice, and muttered quietly, "I love you too."

It was something he wouldn't have been able to expect if he had stayed on his homeworld—on  _Nu'akt_. If he ever had a mate at all, the chances of there being emotions involved were slim. Being affectionate to males was believed to make them weak, and a weak male was just another mouth to feed. Had he stayed on his homeworld, J.J.'s only real chance at experiencing genuine love as an adult would be to raise children, whether they were his own or someone else's and, even then, that was  _if_  a child survived long enough to raise and if he were trusted with the duty.

When J.J. was young, he swore that his mother loved him fiercely. She carried him when he was afraid and defended him from attackers. However awful the rest was and however little he felt he could trust the rest of his family, his mother loved him. As he had grown older, though, and as he had seen what parents on Earth would do for their children, his faith in his mother had been shaken.

There was a scar on his neck from when he was an infant, old and faded, stretched and twisted as his tiny body grew. When he was about twelve years old, J.J. had admitted that he had been told his mother gave it to him. When he had been born, the only boy in a birthing of three, Nista thought it best to eat him, to better nourish her two new-born daughters.

" _She changed her mind,"_  Jack could remember J.J. saying, trying to defend his mother's actions through what was clearly barely held back tears and shaking hands.  _"She let me live."_

Jack didn't know what to say at the time. He didn't know how to react. He knew then that J.J. had told him the story because he was desperately looking for something to reaffirm that his mother had let him live because she loved him. But, as the words came out of his mouth, Jack could see the realization dawning on him that she had decided, the moment he was born, that his life probably wasn't worth the food he would cost. It was a terrible moment for both of them. The only thing Jack could think to do was scoop his little boy up in his arms and tell him that he was loved and that no one would hurt him.

J.J. still wasn't speaking.

Jack cleared his throat. "You've been thinking about your mother?"

". . . A little."

"Are you angry with her?"

"Yes."

The blunt chill in J.J.'s voice as he answered startled Jack.

"Care to explain why?"

J.J. reached across him to snatch up the notebook from the corner and tossed it into Jack's lap. He had moved so suddenly and without care that he caught the back of his hand on his tooth again, scratching open the skin just enough to produce a bead of blood.

Jack opened the book and flipped through it. He could see that it had been written with care and even included some rough drawings.

"These are the stories I was told as a kid," J.J. muttered darkly. "Almost all of them that surround male characters, even gods, make them weak and useless or evil. I was taught that I was only worth as much as my obedience and my teeth."

It was true. Even just skimming, Jack could see that the stories involved a lot of men being torn apart by their families or struck down by the gods for their failures. Daughters exacted revenge and inspired, Mothers conquered and found new knowledge, Goddesses created and destroyed with immeasurable power and unquestionable justice.

And then there was Lu'atu, a god who existed to serve as a mate to the goddesses and little else. Ju'atse, the god of plagues, an innocent victim that became the embodiment of all sickness as punishment for a crime that wasn't his. Ru'ahn, the god of war, who started the first war and doomed his brother to an eternity of isolation through his own selfish disobedience. Iu'apin, the god of lies, who spoke the first words of deceit out of malice to have an enemy murdered. Makon-Kihm, a cowardly mortal who caused the deaths of his entire tribe with his treachery. Bri'ash-Potho, another mortal who was skinned and left alive to dry out in the sun as punishment for theft. And countless others who were only mentioned in passing and held no importance.

Villains and fools and pawns, all.

The only male that Jack noticed who was spoken of in a positive light for actively doing something was Gu'afiate, the god of sacrifice. He killed himself willingly in a time of famine to feed his family, saving them. Ku'atsi created a new body for him and returned him to life as a reward for his loyalty, and Gu'afiate continued to die, be eaten, and returned to life for all eternity.

Jack looked up from the book. He'd never heard these stories before. He had heard J.J. reference them in passing, sometimes using their names when he swore, but he had never known their stories. When he moved his eyes to look at his son, he noticed he was beginning to shake.

Without thinking, Jack reached for the fur blanket that he had brought with him, sitting on the floor beside him. Before he had a chance to do anything with it, J.J. ripped it from his hands, raked his teeth through the material in one swift motion to tear it in half, then threw it viciously from the closet.

Jack kept his hands to himself, staring with wide eyes for a moment. J.J. was baring his teeth at the pieces, breathing heavily and blinking angry tears from his eyes.

"Hey," Jack said softly, putting his hand on J.J.'s arm. "Calm down. Talk to me."

J.J. took several deep, shaking breaths, trying to calm himself. He was trembling all over now, his lips instinctively pulled back over his teeth. Jack handed him the tennis balls and J.J. took them without hesitation, gripping them in his hands tightly as he tried to slow his breathing.

"Tell me what's going on."

J.J.'s voice quivered when he spoke, but he forced the words out. "I'm not meant for this world," he said in a low growl, staring out at his bedroom door as though he expected it to open. "I don't fit. It's big and empty and I'm alone."

Jack desperately wanted to correct him. He wanted to tell him that he had a huge family that cared about him and a team that would risk their lives to keep him safe. But it didn't matter if all those people were there if J.J. still  _felt_  alone. He was the only Alreesh among billions—no one knew the stories he grew up with.

"Okay, let's talk about that then. So something's missing," Jack offered. "The pack?"

"Yeah," J.J. answered with a quick nod, but his hands gripped the tennis balls so tightly that they creaked from the strain. "I can't sleep. I can't relax. I don't feel like I'm  _me_  without it but . . . I think about going back there—leaving Earth and becoming part of a pack again—and I realize that I hate them."

Jack frowned, surprised to hear such words. J.J. turned his head and made direct eye contact, repeating his words slowly to make sure that Jack understood how much he meant it.

"I  _hate_  them."

Jack's frown deepened. "J.J. . . ."

"Because of how I was born, I meant nothing to them," J.J. spilled out quickly, his lips beginning to pull back over his teeth again. "They would have killed me. They would have eaten me. How many tried to stop me when I left? How many said goodbye? I was to be a bodyguard or take care of the children or else I was meat. I was livestock to my own people—to my mother—just as much as I was to the Gurani. She would have let them eat me." He paused for a moment, taking deep breaths, working up the courage to say his next words aloud. "I hate  _her_  too."

Jack blinked, feeling his heart sinking like a stone. It hurt to see J.J. like this. It killed him to see the pain in his eyes and the anger in his shaking fists. He wanted to tell him that it wasn't true. He wanted to say that J.J.'s family had loved him just as much as any other and that they let him leave so that he would have a better life. He wanted to say that they would have died for him.

Instead, all he could do was whisper, "Don't say that."

For just a second, the hardness in J.J.'s eyes faltered, but then gathered strength again. "I hate her," he repeated, sounding more like he was talking to himself than to Jack. " _I hate her_."

Maybe he didn't mean it. Maybe he did. Maybe it was both at the same time. He supposed it didn't matter to a dead woman whether her son hated her or not.

"Can we just go home, please?"

Jack nodded and pulled himself to his feet. He helped J.J. pack a few of his things, to last him a couple of days until they could arrange to move the rest. He found the leather bracelet on the floor in the far corner of the room, broken in half and discarded—a ragged and withered strip of skin that was all that was left of his son's mother. He slipped it into his own pocket, deciding that, even if J.J. didn't want it anymore, he could keep it himself, to remember the woman who gave him the best gift that he ever could have asked for.

Jack wrote a quick note for Kevin, offering a brief explanation and promising a proper conversation.

He was just about to shut the front door behind him when he remembered what they had forgotten and went back inside to fetch Lyle. The plant looked quite poorly and perhaps it was beyond saving, but Jack wasn't prepared to give up on it yet. Perhaps better conditions and a little more care could bring it back.

J.J. stayed quiet once the car started moving, but Jack could tell that his mind was on fire with noise. His fists would clench occasionally or he'd suddenly take a deep breath and turn his eyes to the window. On the inside, the boy was at war with something and he was trying his best not to let it out.

"Why today?" Jack asked, watching out of the corner of his eyes for a reaction. "You've been living there for two years. What happened today to make you change your mind?"

J.J. swallowed, his eyes scanning the darkness outside the windows, searching. "I don't know."

Jack believed him. But he knew his son well.

"Kevin is out with Annie, isn't he?"

A nod.

"You two are very close," he said slowly, treading carefully. "You live together. You work together. You sleep in the same bed—"

" _Sometimes_ ," J.J. interrupted. "With . . . blankets and stuff in between us. Don't make it weird."

"I'm not trying to make it weird," Jack answered quickly, holding up his hands for a second in surrender. "I'm only saying that you do everything together. You spend more time with him than you do with Ganbri these days. You clearly care about each other very much."

J.J. sniffed and scratched at one of the cuts on his hand. "Yeah."

"Do you think that maybe it bothers you that Kevin is spending so much time with Annie now, instead of you?"

"I'm not a fucking thirteen-year-old," J.J. snapped irritably. But then he leaned back in his seat and chewed over the words, thinking, until he finally continued. "He didn't tell me that he would be staying out all night. I don't like being alone in that house."

"And that's it?"

He could see J.J.'s muscles tensing up again. "What do you want from me?"

Jack took a deep breath. "Was there anything going on between you and Kevin?"

He saw the way J.J.'s eyebrows locked together and his head turned swiftly. "I just told you not to make it weird. Why would you even ask me that?"

"Look, I just never thought to ask those kinds of question before because I figured you knew that you could tell me anything and that I'm happy as long as you're happy, but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't make sure. I want you to tell me if something like that was going on,  _especially_  if he's going out with Annie." He couldn't help it—some inner part of him stirred and growled and spoke before he had a chance to stop it. "If some guy's fucking around behind your back, I'd want you to tell me so that I can find him and break his goddamn legs. I don't care if he's part of the team;  _nobody_  cheats on my kid."

There was a bit of an awkward silence and Jack discovered that he was actually huffing, he had become angry so suddenly. A ghost of a chuckle escaped J.J., instantly breaking the tension, and the boy leaned back in his seat again.

"I'm not gay."

"I never said you were," Jack blurted before J.J. barely had time to finish his own sentence.

"I mean that I don't want to have sex with men."

"Okay," Jack nodded quickly. "Fair enough." He took another deep breath. "But you know that you could tell me if you did, right? I wouldn't tell anyone or tell you to pursue anything. I mean, pretty much everybody has  _some_  kind of sexual fantasy or something that they—"

"That is  _definitely_  making it weird again," J.J. interrupted, his voice stern. "I'd really like it if you could stop talking about it already."

"Okay . . . but I  _just_ —"

"I'll tell you what," J.J. practically shouted at him. "If I ever get the urge to play with somebody's dick, I'll call and notify you immediately. Will that make you happy?"

Jack suppressed a grin, feeling the nagging sensation in his heart suddenly let go. "As long as it's not during the act, then okay. If you call me beforehand, I can even give you tips."

"And  _that_  brings a close to this conversation."

J.J.'s room had been left exactly as it was when he left. They carried in the couple of bags that they had brought with them and put them where they belonged without a thought. The bedroom got too much sun for poor Lyle, so Jack moved the fern to the kitchen, to sit beside his own, and carefully watered them. J.J. immediately came up behind him with a marker to label their pots, Harris and Lyle, scolding Jack once more for not caring more about remembering his fern's name.

Jack set up his bed for the two of them, deciding that he wasn't even going to give J.J. the option to sleep on his own that night. He stashed away a few emergency supplies in the nightstand, in case the boy began to panic again, but he doubted he would need them.

Within half an hour, J.J. was sleeping soundly. Jack gently cleaned the wounds on his hands and bandaged those that needed it, taking his time. He spoke softly or else hummed, and made sure that J.J. knew that someone was with him while he slept, keeping him safe.

It was a terrible thing to be alone in the universe. He understood what J.J. meant when he said he was alone. He would never really properly fit in with the human race—he would always be an Alreesh pretending to be human—but he didn't fit in with his own kind either. Humans were too weak and Alreesh were too savage. Humans offered too many choices and Alreesh offered none. Earth was too full of emotion and Nu'akt was too empty. And his poor boy stood right in the middle, alone among billions—somewhere between human and Alreesh.

It was the loneliness of being the last of a species, without the memories of belonging once. In ways, he supposed J.J. was the first of his kind.

Maybe it was harder to be the first than it was to be the last.

Maybe he didn't belong with humans and maybe he didn't belong with Alreesh. But Jack knew, no matter what, he would  _always_  belong with his Dad.

The next morning, Harris and Lyle both looked a little stronger.


	31. 2038 - Homecoming

** 2038 **

Jenny still felt startled when she walked into her father's house and saw a stranger. For just a split second, she would tense up and her hands would clench into fists, but then she would see his eyes.

Ganbri was taller now, paler, and skinnier. His hair had gone from ebony to auburn. She noticed that his sideburns came in with a lot more than just a hint of red; he seemed to have noticed as well because he shaved them off. He still kept his hair very short but had decided against the military buzz cut that he was used to. He had freckles on his shoulders and the backs of his hands, as well as his cheeks, and his knuckles were large and rough, as if they had split open and healed over a thousand times before. His scars were gone. His smile was different, with little dimples appearing in his cheeks.

But his eyes were still the same.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

He'd been staring off into space, the cup of coffee in his hand cold and forgotten. He never used to drink coffee in the mornings.

"Yeah," he answered, snapping back to reality and clearing his throat. He put down the cup and stood, giving her a forced smile.

She wanted to remind him that he didn't have to go back today. It had only been a few days and everyone would understand if he wanted some more time. But she knew that, if she suggested it again, he would only get angry. He was trying his hardest to get back to normal and didn't like to be told that he should slow down. Maybe going back to work would actually be good for him.

They took the teleport to Jack's house first, as she'd promised. J.J. was sitting in the hallway, dressed and ready with his backpack, his eyes staring off into space the same way that Ganbri's did. He nodded to them and rose, stepping into the teleport without a word.

Seeing the two side-by-side reminded her of how much physical damage Ganbri's regeneration had washed away. Jack had a jagged pink scar stretching around his head, towards his face, curving over his eyebrow and trailing down just next to his eye. An inch or two to the right and he might have been half blinded. The wound was still angry looking, the flesh pink and swollen, and scabby in the deeper areas. There was a large bruise on his cheek, slowly fading to an ugly yellow, his palms still wore wounds that hadn't healed, he held one arm close to himself, instinctively shielding a hidden bullet wound, and there was slight limp in his step, from an injury to his knee that would still probably take a couple of weeks to heal.

"Alright, Jack?" she asked, trying to sound cheerful.

"Yeah." He nodded again. "How you been?"

"Back still aches a bit," she answered truthfully—he'd notice it in the way she walked anyway. "But the armour did a good job."

The door had closed behind Jack, but neither of the boys had moved to tell the teleport to take them anywhere. She stood patiently waited, giving them a moment to reconsider. There was no need to hurry. Torchwood could manage without them for a little longer.

Jack stared at the console for another moment, standing eerily still. Finally, he sighed, swiped his card, and punched one of the buttons before he could change his mind.

"Fuck it," he growled.

"Agreed," Ganbri answered.

Jenny had spoken to the team beforehand, getting Declan to put her on speakerphone for everyone to hear. In her best authoritative voice, she instructed all of them to give the boys their space when they returned. They didn't need to be swarmed and they certainly didn't need to be asked questions. The team had agreed without hesitation.

When the doors slid open, revealing the large open space of Torchwood headquarters, the entire team was there. They were spread out a bit, some of them were even attempting to make it look like they were working, but they were all within a fifty-foot radius of the teleport and they all looked up at once.

She heard Ganbri take a slow, deep breath in. If she hadn't been standing close enough to J.J. that their arms were touching, she never would have noticed that he had started to tremble from head to toe. This was a mistake, she realized. She should have put her foot down and told them no. They weren't ready.

But it was too late now. Their pride wouldn't allow them to retreat. So she placed a hand on each of their backs, as discreetly as she could, and gave a gentle push.

Ganbri stepped out first, raising his hand in a slightly awkward greeting—this would be the first time that any of them saw his new face. J.J. followed, tucking his wounded arm in a little closer to himself and keeping his head up.

Declan was still shuffling some papers on the closest desk, pretending to work, with Jack at his side. Kevin and Annie were trying desperately not to stare but didn't have the focus to pretend they were doing something else. Celeste was looking down at a tablet in her hand and, Jenny noticed too late, was gripping her brother's arm with the other. No sooner had she spotted them than Doug broke free from his sister's restraint and bounded towards them.

She felt herself tense up, worried about how the boys might react. J.J., especially, had been jumpy since their return and she would not have been surprised if Doug's sudden movement earned him a broken nose or worse.

But the giant of a man closed the distance between them in seconds and, though both of them tensed up, neither boy lashed out. Doug made an odd noise somewhere between a word of relief and something that sounded like a sob as he reached them. One powerful arm lifted Nista right off the floor, clutching him half to Doug's chest and half over his shoulder, while his other arm flung around Ganbri and pulled him close.

"Douglas!" Celeste barked angrily at him.

Doug didn't seem to care. He opened his arms slightly, without releasing either boy, and the hand that reached around Ganbri grasped at the collar of Jenny's T-shirt, pulling her into the center of the hug.

"Why didn't you come get me!?" the big man demanded, not even attempting to pretend that he wasn't crying. "That's why I'm  _here_!"

Something about the way he said it actually twisted a little inside her. She wanted to laugh at him—tell him how silly he was being and reminding him how ridiculous a 6'3" ox looked, sobbing like a child—but she couldn't. There was something beautiful in knowing that Doug cared for them so freely and without restraint. There was something so sweet that it almost hurt knowing that he had been so worried that he couldn't hold back from hugging them all for even a minute. The stranger's face that Ganbri wore hadn't even made him hesitate.

She felt her eyes sting a little bit and, for just a moment, she let herself stop being the strong big sister and hid a private moment of weakness in Douglas Burke's chest.

Ganbri clapped Doug on the back, signaling that he was ready to be let go, and was released with one last good squeeze. As her little brother muttered a word of thanks, Jenny stepped back from Doug and hurriedly wiped her eyes. She looked up and saw him smiling down at her, seemingly not even aware that tears had been streaming down his face.

Doug took an extra moment to wrap both arms around Nista's body and give him an extra squeeze. Nista had kept his wounded arm on the outside of the hug, but he still winced when his various other bruises and wounds had pressure put on them. Still, Jenny smiled a little when she realized that he didn't do or say anything to tell Douglas to stop and, when the big man finally put him down, he patted his arm as if to thank him.

She watched carefully for what would happen next. Ganbri had regenerated and he wasn't the boy they knew anymore. He was bigger and looked older, yes, but the most important thing was that he was battle-worn. Would they recognize his eyes?

There was a clear hesitation—a moment when everyone just looked at each other, unsure of what to do. She thought Annie would be the first to come forward, from the way the strength in her face seemed to be falling away and her eyes were just starting to shine with the threat of tears. But then J.J. stepped forward, glancing off to the side as if he were simply going to walk past them. His knee betrayed him, showing his limp ever so slightly, and Kevin was the first to break.

"You fucking git," Kevin muttered as he rushed forward. He made an ugly sniffing sound when he pulled J.J. into a hug but she noticed that, despite how unpleasant a sound it was, it made the Alreesh smile ever so slightly. He even forsook protecting his wounded arm in order to return the hug.

Barely a second after Kevin took his first step, Annie took hers. She approached Ganbri with slower steps, her eyes wide and watery as she looked up at him. Jenny could feel the tension that Ganbri felt, his nervousness vibrating from him like sound. Annie touched his face, standing on tip-toe to see him more clearly.

Maybe it was how self-conscious he looked that convinced her of who he was—that shy, nervous look that was so common to see on Ganbri's face when he felt he wasn't measuring up to what was expected. Maybe it was the way he relaxed his cheek into her hand. Maybe it was just the way he looked at her, the way he didn't look at anyone else. Whatever it was, she slid her arms over his shoulders, hugging him as tightly around the neck as she could from her height. He picked her up without a word, holding her tight.

The others crept forward, half to one boy and half to other, patting them on the shoulder or back and muttering words of encouragement before moving to the other. It was easy to see that it was just as stressful to the boys as it was comforting but, luckily, the team seemed to notice that too and kept their attentions short. All except Kevin and Annie.

Doug wandered back over to Jenny and turned to stand beside her, sliding one of his arms across her shoulders. Had he been someone else, she might have been annoyed and brushed the arm off, but Douglas Burke was a kind and gentle man, and she didn't mind a little weight on her shoulders as she watched the others.

"You're a damn good sister," Doug said cheerfully and without explanation.

"Thank you."

"My sister's always taken care of me," he continued happily. "Fucking idiot that I am, she's always been there. I never really worry with her around. Celeste is the best sister in the fucking world, no joke. But I'd say you make a really close second."

Jenny scoffed and let her hand thump again his ribs. "Excuse me, I literally went to  _war_  for my brother."

"That's why I said  _really_  close."

"Prat," she chuckled.

"Sometimes I try to be a little more grown-up, you know? Try to be like a big brother for once instead of the fucking kid she's got to look after all the time. It doesn't work. That's probably because she's seen me eat my own sick—and before you fucking say anything, I was fucking  _two_ , okay?"

She sniggered, shoulders shaking a bit as she tried to suppress it. "I wasn't going to say anything."

Doug let her take a moment to embrace her chuckles before carrying on. "I just think it's a big job. You never get to stop worrying and you never get a break from it, kinda like being a mum. I wish that Celeste could find someone that she would let just take care of  _her_  sometimes. She deserves that." He squeezed her shoulders a little. "You deserve that too. And you've never seen me eat my own sick."

She smiled and knitted her brows at the same time, glancing sideways and Doug suspiciously. "What exactly are you saying?"

Doug shrugged his shoulders. "If you need to talk, I can listen. I can almost guarantee that I won't have anything wise or helpful to say but I can shut the fuck up for a while, drink a pint, and nod. Drink several pints if you want."

"I've always been more of a whiskey person myself."

"I can do whiskey. It's not my favourite but I'd drink it for you."

She found her smile stretching to a grin. She felt lighter, she realized. Just a moment's talking and a weight on her shoulders had lifted so much weight from her chest. She stood on her tiptoes, planted a lingering kiss on Doug's cheek, and promised to call him if she felt like going for a whiskey.

The boys appeared to be finishing their greetings and she joined them again. The different members of Torchwood drifted away, returning to their work or else joining each other to speak in hushed voices, but Kevin stayed firmly at J.J.'s side and Annie held on to Ganbri's hand as they walked.

Kel was waiting for them all, standing behind the small crowd patiently, smiling. Unna was circling around him but she left his side temporarily to approach J.J. and butt her head against his shin, rubbing against his leg and purring loudly. J.J. had been the one to take her home and care for her when she was a kitten and, though she lived at Torchwood headquarters now, she never forgot to thank him each time she saw him.

"She's been looking for you while you've been away," Kel said, nodding his head at the little grey cat. "Only a few days, but she did seem very distressed."

"Why don't you give her one of your ferns?" J.J. answered with a slight edge to his voice.

Kel's piercing blue eyes drifted slowly up to meet J.J.'s, holding a gaze for a brief moment before smiling again. "An excellent idea, pet. Perhaps I will," he answered. "But first, let's see that you are fit to be here."

He paused briefly, glancing over Annabelle with an interested look in his eyes, but said nothing. The doctor turned and began to walk, leaving it up to the group to decide who would follow him. They all did.

Jenny sat on a stool in the corner of the room and silently waved Kel away from her. She wanted him to look at the boys first. She knew her own body enough to know that she didn't need any real attention.

"Edwards, be a dear and get started with Nista, would you?" Kelevra said as he began washing his hands. "I'd like to look over our Time Lord friend here, myself. I've never seen a freshly regenerated body before."

Two more stools had been pulled into the center of the room and Annie moved to stand behind Ganbri as he got comfortable on his. She kept a hand on his shoulder and Jenny could see her give the occasional squeeze. She could tell, looking at her brother, that he felt better having her there.

J.J. also appeared to be doing better. She looked him over carefully and saw that his trembling had stopped. His wide, cautious eyes looked more relaxed now. Even as the bandages on his arm were removed and his many wounds were poked at and cleaned, there was little reaction aside from the occasional wince of pain. He just looked tired now.

Kel chatted absent-mindedly as he worked, smiling kindly and never asking questions that might be difficult for the boys to answer. He never asked how any of it happened, not even the unusual wound that wrapped around J.J.'s scalp. With his relaxed demeanor, Jenny might even think that the doctor was disinterested in his patients if it weren't for his sharp eyes. Nothing went unnoticed and Jenny quickly discovered that, by simply watching Kel's eyes, she noticed more too.

Ganbri's eyes were apparently sensitive, the muscles in his face tensing slightly whenever light shone in his direction. He kept shifting in his seat, propping one of his feet on top of the other as if he were trying to support a sore ankle. J.J. couldn't stretch his left thumb out all the way. When Kevin was inspecting the wound on J.J.'s head, he wasn't actually looking at the wound. Kevin and Annie seemed to be having some sort of silent conversation with each other, regularly meeting each other's eyes with a variety of facial expressions. At one point, when Kevin moved past her, Annie reached out a hand and touched his wrist, smiling at him.

Jenny blinked. By following Kelevra's gaze, she got to see the world through his eyes for a moment, and it suddenly became so much more interesting. There was a lot that was happening right now, she suddenly realized. Now Kel was watching her too. His head tilted slightly to the side when they made eye contact and he smiled with what looked like approval.

"Kevin," the Zumecki doctor said softly. "Would you bind Ganbri's ankle for me? He seems to have sprained it and forgotten to mention, and I would like to have a look at that head wound."

Kevin switched places with little more than a nod of his head and set back to work. Kel met Jenny's eyes again, holding her for a moment as he moved to his next patient. The way he smiled at her piqued her interest, as if he was making sure she was still paying attention.

J.J. wouldn't make eye contact with Kel. He kept his eyes averted and lowered his chin, subconsciously guarding his throat, but he didn't resist the doctor's touch. Kel put on new gloves and gently traced his fingers along the wound, testing the tender flesh and parting hair in search of anything hidden beneath. J.J. winced and his breathing quickened slightly as Kel moved further around to the back of his head. The wound hurt more than J.J. had led her to believe, Jenny saw, and he tucked his chin in low and his eyes glanced to his side, where the others were.

"This detached completely, didn't it?" Kel asked, pushing his fingertips against the swollen scalp, but he didn't wait for an answer. "Hold still. This will hurt a little." Quick as a flash, Kel produced a scalpel and, before J.J. could react, created a small incision at the back of his head, near the wound.

J.J. gasped loudly and one of his hands shot out to his side.

Ganbri caught it as though he expected it and held tight. "Don't move," he reminded his friend quietly.

Annie turned away, with tears glimmering in her eyes. Kevin froze, on his knees with Ganbri's foot in his lap, and looked up at the Alreesh. He forced a smile on his face, nodded slightly, and some of the rigidness in J.J.'s muscles vanished.

"Just allowing some of this excess fluid to escape," Kel explained calmly, wiping away the bloody ooze with gauze. "A little less pressure will feel a lot better. This is a little worse than I thought it would be though. I wouldn't say you're fit to be in the field with a wound like this. Really, you ought to be monitored."

"Don't ask him to stay at Torchwood," Annie cut in, turning back towards the scene. "Kel, you know he should be at home."

"Yes," Kel agreed. "It would be best if I could stay with you a day or two to watch over your healing but, although I'm sure you would be  _far_  too polite to refuse me, I know that you wouldn't be comfortable with that arrangement. Perhaps Mr. Edwards could watch you for me? Or perhaps Doctor Noble, if he is willing? He is a very good doctor, after all."

"I'll do it," Kevin volunteered quickly. "We lived together for a while. I'm used to the weird shit he does all the time."

J.J. gave one quick nod of his head. "Okay."

"Excellent," Kel beamed. "Two days should be good enough, but I'll leave that to your judgement. Keep an eye on the swelling and lance it again if needed. I think Mr. Noble-Mott should be fine to work, though perhaps avoid field missions for a little while. That ankle needs resting. Annabelle, you'll keep an eye on him for me, won't you?"

Eventually, it was decided that J.J. was going to take significantly longer than expected to patch up and it was suggested that the others carry on with their day. Jenny stayed with Ganbri a while longer, chatting with him as he got settled at a work station and began pulling up files on what had happened while he was away. Once he was smiling and looking relaxed, she decided he'd be fine with Annie keeping him company. She had done her part and wasn't needed anymore.

Ganbri thanked her for coming and kissed her cheek. Annie assured her she'd watch over him and hugged her. Jenny walked away knowing that her little brother would be fine without her.

As she walked back to the teleport, she glanced around the massive headquarters, searching for signs of life. She wasn't sure what she was looking for until she passed an open door, and heard loud cursing coming from inside.

The room was buzzing loudly with the whir of some sort of massive computer that took up nearly the entire space. Doug was on his knees, his body twisted and stretching awkwardly as he wedged himself between two panels, trying to work his massive hands through a tangle of tiny wires.

Jenny leaned in the doorway and rapped her knuckle of the frame. "Knock, knock."

"Who's there?" Doug answered without looking.

Jenny frowned a little. "It's Jenny."

"It's Jenny wh—oh," Doug's head popped out to look at her. "I thought—Sometimes Celeste or Dex or somebody tells me jokes when I'm jammed in between stuff," he explained, grinning widely. "I laugh and my chest moves and I get really fucking stuck sometimes. They think it's funny."

Jenny raised an eyebrow, but she felt herself smile. "Then why do you set them up for the punchline?"

Doug wiggled free of the panels and shrugged his massive shoulders. " 'Cause it still makes me laugh."

Jenny smiled a little wider. "You still fancy a pint?"

"I thought it was whiskey?"

"I thought I'd be nice to you this time."

"Alright," Doug answered, that grin of his somehow spreading wider. "Just give me a minute to finish this, yeah?"

Jenny nodded and leaned against the doorframe to get comfortable. Doug set back to work, wiggling to get his great frame into the tiny spaces he needed to work in.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked after a moment. "Is there anything, uh . . . interesting going on with Kevin? With anyone else?"

"You mean him and Nista?" Doug answered without missing a beat. "I dunno. Everybody kinda thinks so but they're both a bit weird so . . . who the fuck knows? I asked Kevin once, and he said they're just really close after living together. I guess Nista's kinda fucking crazy at home so you either get real close or run real fucking far. And then Kevin and Annie are kinda a  _thing_  so . . . Really, I think Ganbri and Nista are a little weird together sometimes and some people think me and Celeste are kinda weird. Everybody's different."

She frowned. "I guess so."

"I just think Kevin knows how to handle Nista's shit, you know? It looks weird to us, but that's 'cause it's like a fucking superpower. Like Celeste's superpower is being a fucking awesome sister and it makes her look weird. Or like your dad being so smart and Nista being so fucking scary."

Jenny raised her eyebrows again, nodding slowly. "Does that make your superpower swearing?"

"No! Listen to this, alright," Doug answered loudly, suddenly sounding very excited. "That fucking weird guy we've got, Edmund, yeah? He does this thing sometimes where he touches someone. Puts his finger on their forehead and it, like, I don't know, does  _something_. He's done it a couple of times and people start throwing up and things and they can't remember what happened."

"That sounds like Edmund's superpower, really."

"No, no! Because, listen, he did it to me once. Stood up, fucking big as you like, and— _boop—_ touched my head like the others. And . . .  _Nothing. Fucking. Happened_."

"Oh, come on," Jenny started chuckling. "That just means he only poked you then, stupid."

" _No_! I still got this little, like, sort of tingly feeling in my stomach—I reckon it was a little version of what made the others throw up." A hand whipped out from the tangle of wires, pointing at her with conviction. "I'm telling you, he tried it, and not a  _fucking thing_  happened. That guy used to scare the shit out of me before that, but I don't worry so much now because  _that's_  a fucking  _superpower_. If you want to count swearing as a superpower too, then that just means I've got two. And knowing how to do this shit. That makes three. I'm that fucking awesome."

Jenny shook her head in disbelief. "You're going to be that fucking  _alone_  if you don't hurry it up."

The hand quickly disappeared back into the wiring. "Right, right, sorry. Nearly done."

"Good."

"Dex told me a joke the other day that was really good. Wanna hear it?"

"Sure."

"What's the difference between a chicken?"

Jenny blinked. "What's the difference between what?"

Doug was already chucking. "A  _chicken_. What's the difference between a chicken?"

She frowned, trying to wrap her head around the words. "What's the difference between a chicken? That makes no sense."

Doug started laughing, snorting in between words as he spoke. "One—One leg's the same!"

" _What_?" Jenny asked loudly. "I don't get it, mate. That just doesn't work. Am I missing some kind of reference?"

But Doug was laughing too much to even hear her probably. What little of his body that she could see was absolutely shaking with laughter while Jenny kept trying to figure out what the hell he had meant. She gave up once she found herself starting to chuckle at how hard Doug was laughing at his own stupid joke.

The big man wasn't able to say anything at all coherent until he finally managed to gasp, "Oh, fuck, I think I'm stuck."


	32. 2038 - Shameless

**2038**

The sounds of the city were not loud enough to drown out the distressed cries of the birds. Nista didn't know why they cried so when the jay he'd caught was fully grown. He supposed it must have been its mate that cried, or maybe its children. Who knew?

He plucked a kidney from the tiny corpse and savoured the way it popped between his teeth. The liver was the best in rabbits and he thoroughly enjoyed the spongy deliciousness of a set of duck's lungs, but jay kidneys were like candy. He leaned back and lifted his cigarette back to his mouth, letting the taste of smoke and blood mix a little.

God, it was hot.

He could smell the Time Lord long before he appeared. If Jack had wanted to, he could have easily vanished into the trees and been gone before Ganbri got to him. But what was the point? Ganbri's sense of smell was almost as strong as his own and he would know what he'd done. Fuck it. He wasn't going anywhere. If Ganbri didn't want to see his friend eating animals raw, then he simply shouldn't follow him.

He poked through the bird's corpse, looking for the next morsel to pluck. Happily, he discovered that the bird was female and had two eggs resting inside her body, ready for laying. The shells of them were collapsing between his tongue and the roof of his mouth when his old friend finally stepped in front of the tree where he perched.

"You haven't got your shimmer on," Ganbri said, blocking the sun from his eyes with his hand as he looked up. "What if someone sees you?"

"If someone spreads a story of a beast-man eating birds in the trees, it'll get brushed off as a mad story," he answered, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette. "If they see a man doing it, especially a man they can identify, then we'd have a problem."

"Why do you do that, Jack?"

He could hear the disgust in Ganbri's voice. It made him angry.

"Because it's good."

"Can't you just eat meat from the store?" the Time Lord persisted. "We'll get you some chicken breasts or a whole duck to eat if you like."

"It's cold," he answered sharply, pulling a string of fat from the bird and flicking it down onto the ground. "There's no heat, no juice, no  _life_  in it. Why don't you eat the vomit after someone is sick so as not to waste the food?" He gave a couple of seconds’ pause, just to see the way Ganbri's brows locked together. "Because it's fucking disgusting."

"You've been living off of it just fine."

"And you live off of veggies and water just fine too. Doesn't mean you don't want a doughnut once in a while, does it?"

"I don't have to kill a doughnut." Ganbri had meant it as a joke. Jack didn't think it was funny.

He reached into the bird's body, his nails scraping against bone as he clawed one last bit of meat from it, then tossed the corpse from his branch. It landed at Ganbri's feet, head twisted grotesquely on a broken neck and wings splayed pathetically. He leapt down after it, landing deftly on his feet.

"Do you think the meat in your stores just pops into existence? You think drumsticks and tenderloins grow off of the mighty meat trees? A man says he is hungry and somewhere, behind closed doors, an animal dies." He paused a moment, letting the gravity of that statement sink in. "It's nature, Ganbri. Don't try to make me feel like I'm doing something wrong for cutting out the middle man. It's a fucking bird. And I don't see you chasing down foxes and hawks to tell them not to hunt. What's your problem?"

Blood dripped from his fingers onto the ground as he clutched the meat in his hand. Flies were already gathering on the body. He brought the cigarette to his lips and took another, long drag. Somewhere in the trees, a jay was still crying.

"You just . . . didn't seem to want it as much before . . ."

Before the Nightmare's War. That was what he didn't want to say. Jack felt his lips moving on their own accord, pulling back and exposing the length of the fangs that nearly reached his chin.

"That's the Doctor's voice I hear in you," he hissed.

Ganbri shifted a little uncomfortably. "People are just worried about you, Jack."

"No," he snapped firmly, dropping his wasted cigarette on the ground. "We're family, you and I, but that doesn't mean I have to be one of you. I will never apologize for what happened on that ship. I will never feel guilty for the things I did."

Those brown eyes flicked up at him and quickly turned down to the ground. Two weeks Ganbri had waited to bring this up and suddenly he was shy. He wished sometimes that Ganbri could be a little bit more like Harry and just spit it out.

"I  _liked_  it, Ganbri. I think most of us liked it on some level, I'm just not ashamed to say it. Every single person I hurt was out of self-defence. It was a war, in case you forgot. I saved a dozen lives that day, one of which was yours. You can think the worst of that all you like but fuck your guilt. I'm proud of it."

"You should be," Ganbri answered quietly. "I don't want you to be ashamed, Jack. You did something great. It's just the blood thirst . . . I just worry about your need to hunt."

"Earth people have too much fat. I'll stick to my birds, thank you."

That was the end of it. There was no more discussion to be had. Ganbri would know that from his voice even if Jack couldn't feel Ganbri prowling around his thoughts.

He dropped the last of the bird meat on the ground. It had grown cold and lost its appeal. Instead he fished through his pocket for another cigarette. As he lit the end, he wondered if he should hunt down that other jay and put it out of its misery.

The Time Lords and their Earth family had tried on multiple occasions to make him like them. He stubbornly refused each time. But this was the first time Ganbri had done it. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and licked the blood from his fangs, wondering what nightmares must plague these people if a simple and justified kill would curdle their blood so.

The Nightmare's War had been perfectly simple—kill or be killed. So they killed and they survived. He couldn't even begin to fathom why anyone would feel guilty for that, nor did he understand why they all seemed to think it would turn them into uncontrollable killers. Jack killed Nightmare soldiers to live and killed birds to eat. Killing wasn't magic or corrupting or evil. It was nature. Evolution.

Then again, Time Lords were a different breed. For some reason, death weighed heavier on them. He took note of the fact that everyone readily called him Nista on the Nightmare's ship, before any of them knew who he was. No one who was present on the day he met them as a child could often bring themselves to call him that now, so strong was their sense of shame. Just born on a different world, he supposed. Let them have their guilt if it made them feel better about themselves; Jack would take the peace any day.

"Now you've ruined my lunch," he said casually, cigarette bouncing on his lips as he spoke. "You better have something relevant or interesting to say."

Ganbri looked at him with a bit of uncertainty. Jack tugged up the corner of his mouth in a smile to let him know that were no bitter feelings and the other man visibly relaxed.

"Banni suggested that we go into the Haven tomorrow. I haven't really seen it before and now that that whole mess is over, I can."

"Mm. I'll let you check it out first," he answered calmly, turning to look back at the trees. "Sounds like a father/son kind of thing. You'll show me later."

"Okay."

"Annabelle's been saying she wants to go see the visiting exhibit at the museum. The three of us could go today."

"Yeah, I'll ask her." Ganbri was already fishing his phone out of his pocket.

That damned jay was still going on. He didn't blame it for being in distress, but the bird knew that its mate was dead and beyond saving. The time for mourning was not now. Chirping and making a fuss while a predator was present was just stupid—like it was asking to be next. Maybe it was.

"I'm going to see if I can catch another one for the road," Jack said, listening to the bird calls carefully. "You can wait for me to come back or you can go and I'll meet you later."

Ganbri's eyes flicked over to the dead jay on the ground for a split second before quickly returning to his phone. "I'll wait."

Jack smirked, dropped his cigarette and stamped it out. There was no shame to be found here.

"Won't be long," he promised and walked off towards the sound of the mourning bird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That concludes Domestic Life. The series continues from here with Gods of War, which I will begin uploading soon. Please remember to leave a comment and here's a reminder that I have a Tumblr account dedicated to this series (though you may want to avoid it if you haven't read all of it yet) where I answer any questions or thoughts that are shared. My Tumbler username is Nirah10.


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